Outside the Interzone

I can see how people get addicted to this, this, this blogging thing. I mean I just figured it out this morning and I feel like I could go on all day. And no, I don't need to get a life. But I do spend a fair amount of my metabolizing temporal range (i.e. life) sitting here drinking coffee, mostly inside, or sitting outside, smoking cigarettes. The best coffee shop I know of is The Interzone. Now I'm sure many readers have favorite coffee shops, and I respect that. But these guys truly do make a fine brew. I'm pretty strictly a straight coffee guy- I like the bite, and I like a large enough cup that I can nurse it for a while. Don't like sugary drinks. Milk just seems to, well, water it down. Again, these are my preferences, and I'm not criticizing anyone else's.

Iris and Bill, the owners, have been very kind and helpful through some tough times, and I love them dearly. Bill always has interesting stuff to talk about, though he does tend to get faster and faster until not so much the actual sound of his voice as the density of thoughts passes off into the ultrasonic. Iris makes great food, particularly her weekend breakfasts, and the casseroles are pretty damned tasty too. She has a rich laugh that I enjoy, so I'm constantly passing off stuff that I think might trigger that sound.

The staff is great, mostly college-age kids. While quite a number are not actually in school (Oregon State University is across the street), they're every one of them interesting, intellegent individuals who are willing to listen to a guy's middle age rants, and as important, tell said guy about interesting stuff in their lives as well. When they have time between customers, of course. Did I say hard working? Umm, let's see.... No didn't say that yet. Hard working, too.

Let's see. Rotating art show monthly. Mostly good stuff- not that I'm really qualified to judge. Fascinating customers. I try not to pester people who seem occupied, but there's generally at least a couple of people outside in the smoking area who have nothing better to do than spend a while chatting. And the vast number of those conversations end up being interesting. I see interesting as a positive thing.

The Interzone was named after the novel of the same name, by William S. Burroughs. Couldn't get through it. I think actually I still have the Bill's copy. But at any rate, he tells me that "Interzone," in the context of the book, is a metaphor for nowhere. So the idea of being outside of nowhere is an interesting one to me. Does that mean I'm somewhere, or even more remote than nowhere? I have no idea. I also like the sound of the phrase: 2-1-3 syllables. Of course there's the literal meaning that I'm often outside the Interzone. Finally, the out-in conflict is appealing to me, though technically, "inter" is a prefix meaning "between" rather than "inside."

So there you have the reasons this nascent blog goes by the name it does. And if it sounds like I'm too eager to suck up and pander to my home-away-from-home, maybe I am. They treat me good.