coffee talk.

Due to my recent unemployment, I have found myself doing something new. I find wasting an hour or two of my life and $2.71 quite rewarding. I curl up with a book (yeah, I’ve started reading) and a Venti Americano from Starbucks and people watch, or more accurately, eavesdrop.

I have found I look a little more covert with a book in hand, but if anyone is spying on me, they are probably assuming I have a degree from the DeVry Institute hanging on my wall since it takes me 2 hours to read one chapter. Anyway, I have found society pretty interesting. Watching two perfect strangers, judging by the awkward body language, have a first date, or two good friends talk about their other not-so-good friends is like crack to me now.

Watching (and listening) to my new ‘friends’ at Starbucks makes me wonder a few things though. Why are these people here? Have they succumbed to the toilet bowl of an economy like me? Or should I be jealous in knowing they are living off trust funds and/or rich husbands? Whatever the reason, I listen to be entertained.

This new experience has taught me how unawkward (not a real word) it is to be in public alone. Even less awkward than the overly giddy barista who greets every caffeine-craving soul with a ‘howdy’ so happy you would assume they wipe their butts with orchids. I usually reserve my (comfortable) solo time for three places: 1) the bathroom, 2) my apartment, or 3) movie theaters airing movies I’m too embarrassed to ask anyone to accompany me to.

I may not be making reservations at a sit-down restaurant for a booth for one anytime soon, but I do like the idea that I’m pretty good company.

Simply John

Now, no offense to my parents, but all other facets of their parenting aside, they certainly didn’t earn any positive marks in creativity in the naming department. I think they simply eenie-meenie-miny-moed their way through the Old and New Testaments for Biblical combinations that rolled off the tongue with ease. But, seriously, I’m not sure I could go by any other name, but “John” just seems too simple a name to describe the person that is me.

When I meet new people with unique names or intriguing spellings, I am overcome with name envy. Why can’t my name have a 7 or a silent Q in it? I would give my left arm for at the very least another syllable. That’s right, I’m not even a Jonathan (a question I sometimes wish I could answer with a yes).

Also, throughout my life, I have never been attributed any sort of decent nickname (or at least not one I would like to stick around for any extended period of time). The closest thing to a decent nickname I received was “Little John” as a child. This was out of necessity because of my cousin, but unfortunately pre-Pimp Cup famous rapper days. The second was simply “Boerger.” Which, as silly of a last name it is, makes my mind go straight to the nearest Burger King for their 2 Whoppers for $4 special.

I’m not asking for a crazy celebrity baby name like Apple or Mowgli or any sort of name that requires punctuation. But, someday I might actually waltz into a courthouse and give my name a facelift. But in the meantime I totally Googled it and at a substantial cost of time and the money I usually earmark for red wine, my laziness kicks in and I choose to remain simply John.