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155/365 – Coffee Shop Cliche
© 2012 Timmy Tamisiea. All rights reserved. Those scarfs are like the smallpox blankets the colonists gave the Native Americans.  Just crawling with cold germs.

155/365 – Coffee Shop Cliche

Chances are, if your a human being who breathes, you’ve entered a Starbucks or a Caribou Coffee or a Dunkin Donuts or Brad’s Beanery — Brad’s doesn’t exist?  Get on it, Brad!  NOW!

Coffee so sexy, you won't care if it burns your nether regions.

The thing about coffee houses is their uncanny ability to draw in laptops.  Well, okay – they draw in people who own laptops.  Some times, though, I think laptops are just our owners, taking us for walks to coffee shops so they can visit with their laptop friends.  A play date for adults while our technology gossips about how fat desktop have gotten.

"Fatty fatty 2 by 4, you can't process numbers no more!"

 

The big difference between laptop use in Chicago and laptop use in Los Angeles is simple — no one is writing screenplays in Chicago.  EVERYONE is writing them in LA.  There was always a sense of pride when I wrote screenplays in Chicago.  I felt special.  I felt elite.

My screenwriting outfit . . . ELITE!

While everyone else was surfing Facebook or studying for their business or medical exam, I was writing a screenplay.  I was a lone wolf in a sea of otters . . . a lone wolf in a forest of berries . . . a lone wolf . . . God Damn-it!  I was a fucking WOLF!  Okay!  Growl, snarl, slug line!

Can you watch my computer, man? Gotta hit the head and then kill a gazelle.

Now, sitting in a Starbucks in Santa Monica (reading, mind you – not writing), all the laptops are opened to Final Draft.  Everyone’s a writer . . . specifically a screenwriter.  It’s not that it’s intimidating.  There has to be at least 5% who know what they are doing and are making some cash in the prcess.  The other 95% are probably actors.  I’m both . . . I’m screwed.  Stupid screwed.

So, now, for the first tie since I started writing, I have no desire to write in a coffee shop.  I actually prefer staying home and writing.  That’s new to me.  I just don’t want to see the competition.  I don’t care to see them.  Where once I was a special snowflake, I’m now a mound of black snow sludge being splashed onto the sidewalk by passing cars.  It’s weird.  I’d rarer write with a  group of people I know – a writing group – than write with a bunch of strangers who are all 1) trying to look cool (Please take off that “scarf”.  You’re in LA.) and 2) giving me the same judgements in their minds as I am in my own.  “Nice screenplay, loser.  I bet its called, “My Stupid Screenplay I Pooped Out My Butt!”  Nice title!  BURN!”

Oh, it's so cold. Burrrrr. 56 degrees. If a sand storm comes, I'll bea-okay.

 

 

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