Thursday, October 05, 2006

Within the Depths of the CoHo

This isn’t going to be insightful, interesting, funny, witty, or literary. And this isn’t a repeat of my previous note, because that was off campus.

The Stanford Coffee House, or, Coho, disappoints me. I’m there most nights. I’m the one looking disappointed. I'm the one writing notes about you.

The awkward tables look like they were pillaged from a sunken 17th century barge and coated with 300 layers of cheap lacquer for a smooth, smooth, finish. Seriously. It feels like you just might be having a cup of coffee on the same exact table where Blackbeard ate his salted meats and bread. Seriously. I was going to say something like, where Blackbeard sodomized his parrot, to really provoke you, but you’d probably not believe that. You might check Wikipedia anyway to prove me wrong. My mind wanders. Polly wants a cracker. Don’t misinterpret Polly. The legs of the tables, additionally, are taken from the masts of the said pirate ship, each being no less than a foot in diameter. There may be no room for your own legs, but goddamn, those tables are solid.

To emphasize the pirate motif, the Coho is dimly lit like the lower decks of a wooden ship. It isn’t absurd. It is sensible lighting, I guess. The kids prefer it. It makes me a little sleepy. They should add hammocks like a proper galleon.

And there is the general lack of outlets. Besides that kitchen counter balustrade of laptops at the back entrance, electricity is scarce. Pirates didn’t have outlets, you might be thinking, so why should we? You’re right. At least they are consistent.

I suppose my next concern is probably specific to my idiosyncrasies. I hate the fact that there is no where to sit and see both entrances at the same time, or even see the majority of the room. This drives me crazy. I have a proclivity for corners and feel most settled with my back to a wall, but this establishment is shaped like a horse shoe, for the sole purpose of irritating me. Maybe it's a vestigial caveman instinct, so to speak. I just don't want to be eaten by a saber-fuckin-toothed cat. I have my problems.

There are people who go to the library to work. There are people who stay in their rooms. There are the Coho people, who actively put themselves in a situation full of distractions (and saber toothed cats?) and try to get work done. Is it really the draw of white noise? Is it simply to be seen and to see? I’m not sure.

You know that Seinfeld episode where George watches Home Alone (and cries at the part with the old man) at Jerry’s apartment just so that he’s doing something “out of the house”? That has nothing to do with the plot of the show, but yeah man. You know. Out of the house.

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