Hoodmapping in the Outer Sunset

Hoodmapping Destination: Java Beach Café (Outer Sunset)

8/3/10 11:30-12:30

Notes:

As I walk in and scan the place, I am actually blown forward by the wind. The faint smell of the ocean surrounds me. I am suddenly famished. I wait in the counter line and notice that they have an actual bar made out of old scruffy wood. I already like this place.

The café is small and crowded. There are only 4 tables in front that resemble a wind tunnel (the door is open), 4 tables behind the bar, and about 5 seats at the bar. 4 seems to be the lucky number here. There are also 2 couches and a few outside tables but with this fog and wind, that isn’t an option. Every seat is taken anyway except at the bar. I order quickly (a veggie bagel and a cup of Jasmine Green Tea) and snag a seat at the bar.

I stare at the beers on tap in front of me and make a mental note to come back for happy hour sometime. They have 5 beers and I actually like 3 of them.

There are 4 baristas working behind the scenes to keep everyone happy. 2 women that look like sisters with matching ponytails and features. They are both wearing their Java Beach logo t-shirts. Another woman in a Guinness t-shirt is making espresso. It smells unbelievable. The guy behind the counter is sprucing up the place. He’s the one in charge. He is fully tatted and wearing a Rip Curl t-shirt. Everyone working there has Irish accents. The whole bar/coffee shop theme is starting to make more sense.

The 4 tables behind me are reserved for hard-core laptopers. All Macs. Each of them sits solo typing intensely, plugged happily into the wall.

The woman directly behind me gives her computer a rest and sighs loudly. She picks up her iphone and sends an angry text. She is drinking iced coffee and wearing gloves.

The middle-aged guy next to her types vigorously. Looks like he is answering an email. He is wearing a 49ers jersey and black loafers. His Blackberry shakes the table as it buzzes. He ignores it.

A regular walks in. He chats up the Rip Curl guy. He is wearing dark sunglasses and has a giant guitar on his back. I think it’s a Strat. He looks like Pete Townshend circa 1978. He is even wearing the jumpsuit. Classic. He pours his own coffee and heads outside to sit. Suddenly, “Substitute” by the Who is playing in my head.

Abruptly a family of tourists interrupts my creative vibe. 6 of them push their way towards the bar. There are only 4 empty seats. A couple, and two sets of grandparents. They grab a high chair and block the path to the bathroom. I have to move way down the bar to accommodate them. Really? I am almost sitting on top of where people come to get their drinks and napkins. It’s difficult to take notes. The baby starts to wail. Daddy picks up the baby and thankfully calms him down. Baby daddy is practically pushing me off the bar. I am starting to dislike his thermal shirt wearing, tight jean ass. They talk about Fisherman’s Wharf and how it might be too cold to walk across the GGB. My leg is being pushed up against the bar, while his baby is eating Gerber’s Lasagna and Meat Sauce. That will probably bruise later. I smile as I think of it as my first Hoodmapping battle wound.

An 80’s guy enters, his frizzy hair blowing in the wind. I think he has a tail or some kind of mullet. I anxiously wait for him to turn around. He is wearing a green suede jacket with fringe sleeves. He orders a non-fat latte and catches me looking at him. He smiles. I quickly turn back to my notes and try to look busy.

I see a table open up between 2 of the laptopers. I race towards the table just in time, spilling some of my tea on my jeans. I am happy to have my own space again. I am also relieved that my tea is no longer steaming.

2 pony-tailed firefighters enter, a male and a female. This seems to be the chosen hairstyle of the day. I scan the place and notice 4 other people besides the two baristas with ponytails. He orders a double shot cappuccino and a hot chocolate for his partner. He loudly shouts, “ A Swiss Miss for the Swiss Matron.” She blushes.

A couple sits by the window quietly, computers touching and work spread on their laps. They look peaceful despite the heavy workload.

Rip Curl turns the music up. Sounds like a Mariachi band. I am still thinking about Pete Townshend. I can see him sitting outside at one of the tables smoking. He is now wearing a black trench coat over his jumpsuit.

More and more people enter. The crowd never seems to thin out. They look like Eskimos, marching in with hoodies, scarves, and hats. Maybe they have just come from walking on the beach.

I see a couple coveting my table. Since I am finished with my tea I stand up to leave. Before I am even finished putting on my jacket they are hovering over me.

As I am walking to my car, I see Pete Townshend. He winks at me and gets into his car. I notice that he has an old Caprice police car. Written on the back of his car in huge white letters are the words, UFO Response Team. I crack up as I reach my car. The sun is trying desperately to peak out from behind the dense fog.

Tales from a Marina Cafe

Squat & Gobble

2263 Chestnut Street (The Marina)

Tuesday 7/13/10 2-3 pm

Notes:

I set out to hoodmapp The Grove, notebook in hand but as I walk down Chestnut Street, I am overpowered by the smell of bacon. As I look up at the sign, I chuckle. Squat & Gobble had officially got my attention.

As I walk in and scan the room, guys in argyle sweaters and attractive girls with colorful tank tops surrounded me. The shoe apparel of choice seems to be flip-flops. I step up to the counter and order a side of extra crispy bacon and an ice tea.

Two college age girls sit across from me eating matching salads. They both are wearing colorful tank tops, one purple, one pink, and Diesel jeans.

I check in on foursquare and take note that Hank L. is the mayor here. I laugh as I spot him at the corner table. He is doing a bang-up job.

The matching salad girls talk about their boys. Purple tank top states loudly, “ I was like if he doesn’t want to make the time for me then, NEXT”! Pink tank top nods her head in agreement as she takes a huge bite of her Mexican Chicken Salad.

I pause and smile. Simple Minds, “Don’t You Forget About me,” the theme song from The Breakfast Club is playing. I think about John Hughes.

Three stereotypical Marina boys sit at the center table. They are wearing button-up shirts, shorts, and flip-flops. All three still have their sunglasses on even though the lighting in the café is dim. They are talking loudly about last night’s adventure. They seem fuzzy on some of the key details.

A girl enters. She looks like a young Kate Moss. The three Marina boys watch her strut to the counter. They whisper and laugh. I am glad I can’t hear what they are saying.

David Bowie’s “Suffragette City” is playing in the background.

An attractive athletic guy enters. Mid 30’s, skinny jeans, black t-shirt. He walks over towards Kate. He kisses her on the forehead. The three Marina boys turn back to their breakfast disappointed.

“Ohhh, wham bam thank you maam!”

The guy in the red hoodie next to me sits hunched over his Mac. He is working hard-core. Ear phones on, pen in mouth, typing away madly. His food sits next to him untouched. Looks like he is writing some kind of article. Papers spread wildly across the table. I imagine he is some kind of literary genius. Suddenly I feel like Bridget Jones. Could do worse. I love her.

Music changes. It’s Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf,” I love this place. I suddenly wonder what it’s like to smell like you sound?

As I scope out the place, I realize this is more of a social scene than work type place. The only two serious laptopers are red hoodie guy and a young blonde woman on the opposite side of the café. It’s like a type off or something. Every other table is full of two or more friends. I am the only solo person without a computer. Secretly observing them all. I suddenly feel kinda creepy.

Four college frat boy types rush past me. BU hats, khaki shorts, flip-flops. Am I the only person in this café besides the staff wearing sneakers? Must I be haunted by Boston everywhere I go? They order breakfast then thankfully head towards the garden patio.

Kate Moss gets up to go to the bathroom. The Boston boys swoon.

Madonna’s, “Who’s that girl,” starts playing. I marvel at the fact that the music playing in the café seems to be syncing up to what is going on around me. My timer goes off. My meter has run out. I leave a tip on the table and make a note to come back again for the music. The sunlight blinds me as I open the door to the café and wander out to the busy street.

Please check out our Hoodmapped blog to read more interesting café observations. If you would like to come and play with us please let me know. http://hoodmapped.com/

Tales from a Haight Cafe...

People’s Café 6/29/10 1-2pm

1419 Haight Street
Notes:

As I enter I feel suddenly relaxed. Warm colors, an open but cozy vibe. I stand in line behind only a few people. Most of the tables are taken. I snap a quick photo making sure not to capture anyone’s face.

An attractive guy behind the counter wearing a bowler hat appears. I order a Philly Cheese Steak and an ice tea.

I grab one of the last available tables. Centrally located but not ideal for people watching.

I scan the room and am pleasantly surprised. I figured the place would be full of dreads and patchouli because of its location but am happy to discover all walks of life.

The tables are glass with coffee beans inside. Clever.

I am sitting next to a group of three young guys. They have known each other for years. They use familiar tones and body language. They even dress alike. Skinny jeans, t-shirts, chucks. They talk about fishing, wake boarding, and how they should quit smoking. The one closest to me smells like cloves. The clove smelling one starts telling a story. It involves the EPIC summer of 97 and Zephyr Cove in South Lake Tahoe. After the 3^rd “dude,” I tune out.

My sandwich arrives and it smells amazing. Full of onions.

The spots along the walls are reserved for the hard-core laptopers. The only places with plugs. Mac’s rule the space. Lined up. Silver-plated glistening in the sun.

The tables in the middle are more social. Lunch dates between friends and colleagues.

To the right a girl in her mid 20’s sits playing with her new iphone. Uggs, blue blazer, she looks like she’d rather be somewhere else.

One of the hard-core laptopers sits frustrated, head in hands. Writer’s block? He stands up, stretches, and orders more coffee.

The man next to him looks exactly like Ray Romano. He types with purpose on his Mac, as if each letter is telling a story.

Some guy is complaining loudly about how he got the wrong sandwich but it didn’t stop him from eating half of it. The attractive barista, (Nathan) isn’t phased. He just smiles and tells the difficult guy he will replace it.

Two young guys enter. More skinny jeans. They look hung over. They order and sit next to me. The EPIC boys have thankfully left. They talk about how great it is to finally be able to order the “hangover special.” I was right. I am curious. I go up to the counter and look around. It doesn’t take long to spot the sign. Hangover Special – 10oz steak & eggs served with hash browns and toast. $10.95

I sit back down and smirk.

Two locals enter. Nathan knows them by name. Tattoos, messenger bags, nose piercings, sunnies clipped to their jeans. They order off the Vegan Menu. They sit directly behind me.

I get up to use the bathroom. It reminds me of CBGB’s. All red with graffiti. Made me feel angry. Too much red.

When I sit back down I discover that the locals behind me are talking about Nazis. Not sure the context. Not sure I want to know.

The lunch rush is over. Can finally hear the music. Distracted by Vampire Weekend’s, “The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance.”

I hear Nathan tell someone about the Happy Hour specials from 5-10 pm. Make a note to come back for it.

My phone buzzes. Words with Friends. I am now distracted. I take that as my cue to leave.

For more interesting cafe observations from talented writers/storytellers please go to:

http://hoodmapped.com/

Tales from a Sausalito Cafe

With inspiration from Grant McCracken and Russell Davies, a friend of mine has embarked on an interesting mission. He is starting a series of café observations by neighborhood and has invited others to pIay with him. He has also started a blog about it and I will provide a link at the end of this post. Please email me if you would like to participate.

I am really excited to collaborate on this café observation project. I relish any opportunity to people watch. I realize this is what I normally do anyway in my head; the only difference is now I am putting my thoughts to paper. I decided to go old school and leave my laptop at home. I figured the free Wi-Fi would be a distraction and I would be drawn to play on facebook or twitter, instead of focusing on what is going on around me. Scribbling my thoughts with a pen and paper while sipping my cup of earl grey, made me feel like a 50’s beatnik jotting down introspective poetry. Anyway here it goes…

Taste of Rome Cafe formally known as Café Trieste

6/24/10 1-2 pm

Notes:

I hear the mind numbing sound of hundreds of vuvuzelas.

I glance up at the counter and see two HD TV’s tuned loudly to the World Cup (Japan vs. Demark).

A man with a thick Italian accent stands behind the counter. He calls me Bella. I smile and order a cup of Earl Grey and Insalata Caprese.

Café is crowded, everyone seems glued to the game.

Bikers riding through town stop in. Sweaty and wearing too much spandex. They order iced coffees and grab a table outside.

The hot mamas brigade comes in next, struggling to fit the strollers through the door. There are three of them. They order non-fat lattes and gossip. 2 toddlers and one infant sleep soundly in their strollers.

Biker in a white Nike hoodie sits next to me. He places his sunnies on top of his head. Orders a strawberry smoothie and watches the game.

Buzz…

Older man in glasses and 80’s jean jacket recognizes a beautiful young French woman. They have a brief exchange. The French woman approaches me. Starts to speak French. I remember my new Amelie-like hair cut and respond in English. She tells me she likes my necklace. She smiles and dances away.

I am interrupted by my salad. Nike hoodie biker gets his pasta. It smells delicious.

A group of tourists walk in. SF sweatshirts and cameras blazing. They take photos.

A collective groan comes from the crowd. Japan just scored.

Man at the corner table looks like Bogart. He is wearing a fedora hat. He is hunched suspiciously over his computer. I get up to grab some napkins so I can peek at his screen. Extremely disappointed he is on Facebook.

Local man walks in. He looks like a silver fox. Shoulder length silver hair, white button down shirt, flip flops, age unknown. Everyone knows him. He is a legend here. He doesn’t order just sits down and his glass of red wine is brought to him. Everyone else orders at the counter. He sits down alone at a table for 4. I am intrigued. His name is Robert. I hear the bus boy call him that. I look at him a little too long. Oh no. He catches me. He smiles. I smile back but quickly look away.

A sleeve tatted Irish man enters. He has a shaved head. He is wearing all black. He scans the room for an out of the way table. He glances at his phone. He is waiting for someone.

A young woman enters with brilliant red hair. She is wearing a navy sundress with black converse. She has a Celtic tattoo on her back. She spots the Irish guy he rises to meet her. They embrace and sit down. I stop watching them. Feels like I am interrupting an intimate moment.

Italian man behind the counter is distracted by the game. The natives in line are growing restless.

The game is over. Final score Japan 3 Denmark 1.

The café seems to clear out after. The cool breeze from outside sweeps through the once crowded room.

Here is the link to my friend's Hoodmapped blog:

http://hoodmapped.com/