Shorter attention spans. Longer lives. To curb ADD people are taking medicines, yes, but there are also smart phones, a million gadgets, and toy dogs. We have cafe friends, and blogs. Our language is reflecting our texts and like our ratio of attention to lives, we talk longer, and communicate less.
So, yesterday. California Breakfast at Bette’s Oceanview Diner. Except this was three in the afternoon and I’d been walking all day down University Street and lost for an hour in Serendipity Books.
Breakfast was poached eggs on ham and toast with lemon herb butter and grilled tomatoes and home fry potatoes smothered in ketchup and a tinge of hot sauce on the side.
Sitting at the bar with a fresh-squeezed orange juice mimosa in front of a miniature jukebox, I found a gifted quarter and played Cat Power and Edith Piaf.
I like explaining all these visuals and sensory overloads because we are a modern world of over-stimulated sensations and visuals. We like the food talk and the scattered details in tastes, sounds and colors. I like them.
How did that guy at the café know I needed the electrical outlet? Did I unknowingly give him a glare, and so he packed up and moved inside and left the small table by the outlet to me?
That was thoughtful, if it is true. And it must be true because it is an amazingly sunny, blue sky beautiful day, and no one would or should want to be inside to play on the computer if they can be outside to do it.
I moved immediately and I have views of the crossstreet of Ashby and College. An overweight old man in a red convertible, a biker with a giant backpack, a rotund lady in all shades of green and a polkadot umbrella at her side, probably for the sun.I am staring at her because I’m in a daze. That happens when I leave my contacts and glasses at home, and I allow my eyes to get lazy and glazed over, everything is a blur of colors and patterns.
A girl in yoga garb and a purple head scarf. A delivery truck of wines. A car with a kayak. A handsome man on a bike. A balding middleaged Asian with a sparkly watch. A curly-haired African woman with pink highlights. A boy that looks exactly like a coworker I slept with five or six years ago. Same glasses, red hair, funny face. A man with dirty white pants. A couple leaning into eachother. She has long red hair and it looks natural. Another couple. She is twice his size. A poodle. A cast. A see-through shirt. A prematurely gray young man. A pissy-looking old woman.
It’s a busy intersection. I think I am squinting at everyone. It probably does look like a glare. It’s why I have this table.
You’re probably bored. Too much said without any meaning; too much like each passing day.