I keep hearing about this new radio station, INDIE 103.1. It’s supposed to be giving KROQ a run for its money, but we can’t hear it in the 626. I haven’t tuned in to regular radio, other than NPR or KFWB, since I got XM last year, but I had to go from the 626 out to the 310 last Wednesday, and I thought I’d listen to KROQ and INDIE, and write up a comparison of the two.
Since I’m writing this for blogging.la, I figured it would be extra “LA” of me to bring my iBook over to Starbucks to write it up. There are a half dozen people here with me, three of them also on laptops, one of them this totally insane homeless guy who I see wandering around this area all the time. A few weeks ago, Anne and I were walking out of a restaurant, and he yelled something at her about how he was too evil for her food.
I’m a little pissed that the homeless guy is filling an entire corner of the place with the stink of greasy hair and dirt, and he’s also in the most comfortable chair, in the corner that gets the best sun, where I was hoping to sit today.
Then I sip my Sumatra, take a bite of my muffin, realize that my laptop cost more than this guy will see in a year, and sit in the familiarity of Liberal Guilt™.
Aimee Mann sings “Save Me,” (the only thing about Magnoila that I didn’t totally hate), two men (possibly lovers, or on their way to being ex-lovers) sit silently at a table between me and stinky homeless guy and stare into their lattes. One of them keeps looking at me, and it makes me self-conscious. Is he looking at me because he thinks he knows me? Because he’s seen me on TV? Because, in my Kung Fu Records T-shirt, worn over my Hanes thermal shirt, Chuck Taylors and carefully mussed hair I look sexy and alluring? I self-consciously twist my wedding ring around my finger.
A few moments pass and they leave. It’s weird. They both stand up at exactly the same moment, without a word, as if they’ve shared some silent communication that only lovers can understand. As they walk out the door, a woman storms in past them, yelling into her cell phone. ” . . . oblem, Jerry! You have an obligation to –”
Everyone except Stinky looks up at her, and she lowers her voice. “Well, I’m not going to discuss this with you here!” she says, and slams the phone shut.
She forces a smile and walks to the counter, where she places an order in a quiet, barely-controlled voice that I can’t hear.
Stinky coughs, which quickly turns into a violent hacking. A woman in line puts a protective arm around her young child, and tells him not to stare. Stinky gets up, and staggers outside. He doesn’t return, and I think about moving to his / my chair, but the stink still hangs over that corner. I stay where I am. A man in a tweedy jacket, cotton shirt and bright blue tie sits down next to me, and starts working on a crossword puzzle from the paper. I click click clack on my iBook:
A white van pulled out ahead of me right before the 110. I grew up watching CHiPs, so white vans terrify me: each one contains a potential kidnapper, and at any moment, the back doors could explode open and release a motorcycle rider who will create, and then escape unharmed from, a 50 car pile up.
I write for close to 30 minutes before I look up, and realize that Tweedy Jacket has fallen asleep. His chin sits heavily upon his chest, and his hands are folded in his lap. Why did this guy come to Starbucks to fall asleep over his partially-completed Crossword?
I study him, trying to put together an interesting character background. Is he a salesman? Maybe from a nearby furniture store? Over here on his lunch break. He didn’t make his sales quota last month, and February is his last chance to get some blue boxes filled in next to his name on the white board that surely hangs in some back room. Does he ever finish the crossword? Sometimes. It’s a small victory for him, but one he relishes. Suddenly, his head POPS UP! He looks straight at me with sleep-clouded eyes. They are bright blue, and resigned. My own eyes dart down to his puzzle, and back to my own table. When I steal another glance, one hand cups his chin, while the other taps his pen.
A few minutes later, his digital watch chirps twice to mark the top of the hour. He looks down at it, sighs heavily, and carefully folds his puzzle. He puts it in a pocket inside his jacket, and slowly walks out the door.
I write for another twenty minutes before I get stuck. I can’t recall how to spell “Yahtzee.” Is it Yahtzee? Yachtzee? Yhatzee? I don’t have T*Mobile, so I can’t hit the Internet to find out. I’ll have to trust my instincts: “Yahtzee” looks the least wrong, so I’ll go with that:
"Where it's at! I've got two turntables and a microphone . . . "
Oh, I see that we're flashing back all the way to the halcyon days of 1996. This is my biggest complaint with KROQ's whole "Flashback" criteria: seven years old does not a flashback make, you guys. Does this mean that, when the summer rolls around, we'll be flashing back to the acoustic version of Staind's Outside?
I looked down at the radio, and saw that Fred on XM 44 was playing Joy Division's Twenty-four.
Yahtzee! ADVANTAGE: XM.
It’s good that I don’t have Internet here. Internet has been a HUGE distraction recently, and I haven’t had the self-discipline to just focus, write, and turn it off. Fark, Metafilter, and Cursor beckon like Sirens.
A couple in their mid-30s sits down in Stinky’s chair, which I realize now is a love seat. They exude sexual energy. They must be new to each other. There’s no way they’re having an affair — they’re far too brazen for that — but they clearly can’t wait to get their clothes off. I’m am violently jealous of their passion for one another, and it derails my ability to write.
I sit here and drink my coffee, which is getting cold and bitter(how appropriate). A Starbucks guy runs a sweeper across the floor around me, and beneath my feet.
“Are you a writer?” he asks.
“I hope so,” I tell him. He sort of recoils from me, and I feel bad. It’s not his fault that I haven’t written anything in over a week. It’s not his fault my sweet and kind 12 year-old stepson has been replaced with a surly, disrespectful podperson. It’s not his fault that this couple’s wonderful, supernova passion for each other is what I want and lack more than anything else on earth. Maybe it’s the grey sky, the cold February day, or Stinky stinking up my chair . . . but I can’t feel passion for anything these days. I am a man in his thirties, snapping at a boy in his twenties, because I used to be him.
“I mean . . . I’m trying. I’ve done some good stuff in the past, but right now I’m in a bit of a rut.” I say.
“Oh, well, I hope you find your way out,” he says, kindly. No harm, no foul.
We-Can’t-Wait-To-Fuck get up. She’s flushed, and he’s grinning. They hurriedly gather up their cups, and slam dunk them into the trash on their way out.
I crumple up my muffin bag, and free throw it into the trash can. It sails through the air, trailing crumbs, and hits the side. It skips into the corner, past the door. I pick it up, and see that We-Can’t-Wait-To-Fuck are standing by his car. I know it’s his because he’s leaning against the driver’s door, and she’s pressed up against him. They’re making out, right there in the parking lot, with the reckless abandon that blind passion brings to a couple.
Gods, I fucking hate them.
No I don’t. I hate myself. I hate this rut. I need to warm up my coffee.
I give the Barista a dollar. She fills up my cup and drops two quarters into my hand. I use the tips of my fingers to flip them over: Vermont and Maryland. I drop them into the plexiglass tip box with a flourish, and return to my table.
I write for about 10 minutes, but it’s forced. I’ve hit my Creative Wall for today, ten minutes short of my usual two hour cutoff. I save my work, close up my iBook, sit down in Stinky’s chair. My chair.
My coffee tastes weak, bitter, and familiar.
130 thoughts on “shipbuilding”
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Wil! Say it ain’t so! You haven’t already succumbed to writers writing about writers have you?
Just kidding, nice work of fiction.
Hmmmm….
You know, I felt like I was right there in that Starbucks sitting at the next table taking in everything you saw…if this is writer’s block, I surely wish I had it…
Great entry.
“In the 626.” You crack me up, man. 🙂
— Dragonblink, ex-Barista extraordinaire, exiled to the 949
I was telling one of my co-workers about your blog today Wil. And then I told him that I wanted to write like you when I “grew up.”
Fortunately, a class assignment is now telling me how it wants to be fleshed out beyond a nearly 1,000 word essay. And my schedule lightens up for the next couple of weeks, so my reward for getting caught up on homework and not falling asleep at work will be to haul my old laptop out and work on one of several pieces I’ve been noodling around with.
Thanks for the inspiration,
SEA
Wow. I was able to imagine everything you described, all the way down to the scents in the room.
For a person who feels like he’s in a writing rut, it certainly wouldn’t seem like so, after reading this.
I’m sorry to hear that you’re having some difficulties with one of your stepsons, and that you feel you’ve lost that new-relationship “sizzle”. Hopefully, things will get better, and the feelings of “being in a rut” subside.
I’m looking forward to the next blog entry.
Interesting observations. I’ve spent the last three months in a Starbucks in 626, and recognize a lot of the “Starbucks People” you wrote about. By the way, I’m not at Fair Oaks and California anymore. I’m in Sherman Oaks, at Ventura and Allot. The free latte offer still stands, though, if you care to make the trip. I’m the annoying guy from the front row at the 1/7 JKVS show.
I mostly hope things improve with the step-son(s). I had a step father who did his best to ruin my life (or so I thought) and I envy your relationship. And if a hot chocolate is what he (or they) need to feel a little better, we serve those, too. Which whipped cream on top and everything.
Wil,
That was an absolutely amazing and captivating story. The line:
It’s not his fault that this couple’s wonderful, supernova passion for each other is what I want and lack more than anything else on earth.
really has stuck with me for the past day now since I have read your entry. I find myself pondering that line and going back and rereading that section constantly. You are well on your way to becoming a great writer.
Thank you so much for sharing with us.
Mr. Wheaton,
Please stop writing in your blog. You have a book to write, and many people have already expressed interest in buying it before their eyes fall out from old age.
Sincerely,
Management.
Great Great posting. Reminds me of Roger Zelazny.
Hey Wil.. keep in mind that alot of homeless people not only stink, they can also have a variation of any number of miniscule cooties colonizing on there backsides.. like fleas, lice, ticks and chiggers.
/ick
Roger Zellazny! YES! He likes to write in the first person, especially in the Amber series. You may be in a rut as to what you were trying to write but it doesn’t seem you’re in a rut writing this. I have to say that you are indeed a good writer because you write from what is around you. You are a very observant person and are tallented in putting what you see into very descriptive and visual words. I could picture everything around you. Like the waiter said, I hope you find your way out soon.
I love your style, Wil. Keep going, it will come to you – you’ve obviously got something great already.
Speaking of XM radio, (my absolute music wet dream come true), Fred is by far number one on my list…but have you listened to the new channel Lucy – XM 56? It is most excellent.
No need to hope, you are a writer (you are) You made me feel the whole thing with you.
Thanks for sharing your life each day you have no idea how much it means, I can’t wait to grab my coffe and spend a few qu9ite moment seeing what you are up to
Damn…have you been peeking over my shoulder at the Stanford Starbucks???
Time to pull out my iBook and try to put together a few phrases…
Oh, and one more thing…what made it so real to me was the reference to the “About-To-Fuck” couple (and I can tell I’m getting old…I still have trouble typing the “f-word”!), and the lack of passion in one’s primary relationship. I think most of us have all BTDT at some point or another…hell, even some of my gay and lesbian friends complain about lack of intimacy!!!
It’s been suggested to write SOMETHING every day (which is why blogs are so cool); even garbage can be useful. After all, you might pull it out and look at it later, and think, “hey, there’s an idea hidden in here somewhere.” So don’t think of it as garbage, look at it as compost… 🙂
Do you have a deal to advertise iBook, iPod etc? A lot of your prose comes across as product placement. If this is what you’re doing, it’s unethical not to declare this to your readers (IMHO, obviously).
Jo: No. If I ever get “big” enough to have any sort of sponsorship, I will obviously disclose that information.
I love my iBook and iPod, and I’ve been a Machead since 1984.
Maybe a good meditation course could help with the blockage. I just got back from a ten day Vipassina course (http://www.dhamma.org/) and it helped put things in perspective. The problem usually isn’t your writing skills, or the volume of ideas and experiences, it is being able to bring it all together in a balanced and purposeful fashion. Good luck finding your muse.
Hey Wil,
My husband and I have a 12 year old son too, who we adopted when he was 8, so I understand where you’re coming from on the surliness. I recently-ish read a good book called ‘Get Out of My Life, But First Can You Drive Me and Cheryl to the Mall’, which is about those teenage years and about coping with the changes. I found it pretty helpful and I bet you could get it at the Pasadena library, but unfortunately I don’t remember the author’s name. At any rate, good luck with your boy and with getting out of the rut. You rock!
Eva
I’ve been both the narrator and Tweed Jacket in that story. Never either member of The Couple, unfortunately. But also never Stinky, so maybe it evens out.
Wil!
Fantastic! The coffee analogy was WICKED (and painful). You may feel you’re in a rut, but you are in fact plowing new ground at top speed. You ARE the man!
Jay
Wow! I know you feel like your in a rut, but as others have mentioned, you write great, even when you feel you are stuck. I enjoy reading peoples observations of what is going on around them, and you have a gift for making it seem as if I were there. Keep up the great work.
Hi Wil,
I know I’m a bit late to respond to this particular blog entry, but I wanted to weigh in on KROQ vs. Indie 103.1. I too am in the 626, but I work in the 323 and we get Indie during the day. The best part is… NO DJs! They play pretty eclectic stuff, and since we don’t have cable radio, it’s either that or CDs. Or the regrettable “94.7 The Wave” or Kiss or something equally bad. We’re a design firm, so we need something a little more inspring and we’re all glad Indie came along. Anyway, looking forward to your article on blogging.la.
Best,
Amy
Wil, if you’re in a rut, then I must be in a canyon. Your writing style has never faltered – as far as I can see, it’s only getting better. This kind of entry is the one I look forward to reading in your blog .. stream of conciousness (esp. yours) fascinates me, and you hold back nothing. You’re an excellent and talented writer, Wil, I can’t wait to see what happens when you get out of this so-called rut!
Wil (Wesley),
You made a comment that everyone should try to do something nice for someone everyday. This reminds me of an old song “if everyone lit just one little candle what a bright world this would be.” Please consider this–the next time you’re in Starbucks if Stinky is there, pull up a chair at his (your) table and start a conversation with him. It may take a lot of courage to do this but you may learn something about life from him. Maybe you could help him find a place to take a shower, buy him some clean clothes, give him a few bucks to buy food. Think about it.
P.S. I thought you were still traveling the universe with the Traveler. I guess you’ve finally settled down.
Your great admirer,
Freeman.
I was heading down to Fry’s today to buy geek stuff when I remembered this post. 103.1 reminds me of the promise the Y107 had when it first started. I was in high school, and heard of this weird little station that didn’t have an ad every five minutes, scarcely had a DJ, sometimes got cross radio traffic from LAX and actually played the music I was listening to at the time. This of course, lasted until people were willing to buy ads on the station and they got some DJ’s with acceptable radio voices. Of course, like all stations in L.A., it’s now Spanish language. (Remember 101.9, ah, that was a long time ago…) What I noticed was, they’d play a short block of KROQ songs, maybe to suck you in (assuming you like KROQ). Then that would be followed by a short block of totally random weird stuff, maybe to scare you off (again, assuming you like KROQ). I think I’ll have to listen more during different times of the day to see if I’m really going to be in to this station. Right now I think I’m still going to be faithful to my KFWB traffic reports and quirky news about Yoda statues, how rivets in jeans can harm your naughty bits and the governor.
A thoroughly entertaining post. I almost spit my OWN coffee once.
Keep your head up, Wil.
Vermont and Maryland! I recently moved to Maryland from Vermont!
“Barista.” I was a barista. I have never met another human being who actually know what that word meant though. Employers blink at that word on a resume. I’m impressed with your vocab.
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