I want an atmosphere with a just the right amount of grime around the edges; a few wayward grounds on the floor, messy piles of yesterday’s newspaper, and razor thin coatings of dust on the window sills let you know there are other priorities than sterile conformity. I want a real atmosphere; not one masterfully put together to look inviting but secretly designed to increase customer turnover time.

I want a real person behind the counter not a smiling throng of true believers rallying for the corporate cause, espousing thinly veiled cheap slogans and the virtues of over-priced branded merchandise. I don’t need a fancy barista who attended company-mandated training. I want a college kid trying to make ends meet who won’t try to upsell my short cappuccino with flavor shots, because if I wanted flavored syrup I would have ordered it in the first place. Further more, I certainly wouldn’t try to mix it with a cappuccino. A latte? Possibly. A mocha? Definitely. But certainly not the most hallowed and simple mixture of coffee and hot milk.

I don’t want to be looked down upon for ordering the smallest size and sipping for flavor rather than gulping from a cylinder shaped trough to feed a sugar and caffeine addiction.

I want dim. I want freshly baked from scratch. I want a pile of empty mugs and small crumb crusted plates sitting in the bus bucket. I want to revel in a grandma sitting next to a punk across from a bookish student who reads textbooks kitty corner to a counter culture group playing cards in the corner next to a couple killing time before their movie begins. I want an environment not thick with merchandise. I want everything that is not Starbucks, because I hate Starbucks.

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I just got up from my desk; apparently two co-workers here got married on their lunch break in the service area of the local John Deere dealership. There’s a John Deere ice cream cake for them in the break area that I had to check out. Looks tasty, but I’ll pass.
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My weight had gone up about three pounds, which I figure correlates to my pushup routine and walking a little more often since I’m pretty sure my gut has actually shrunk a little. All in all, we probably spent more time talking about my vitals than the mole, but in case you were wondering the doctor said I am really healthy and don’t need a flu shot, vaccination or any exam.

A few weeks ago we went camping, and for dinner one night we had low-fat kosher dogs cooked over the fire. Curiously, when we bit into them we found lots of tiny, whitish specks on the inside. I can only assume they were flavor crystals because they tasted pretty darn good for being low fat.

In other news, in case you live under a rock, this was Halloween weekend. And as everybody knows, Halloween is my favorite holiday. This year we baked the infamous kitty litter cake and went to a party dressed as a Ceiling Fan and the famous Midwesterner, Joe Six-pack.

In the extremely unlikely chance that Arkansas had no laws about emergency vehicles I did a little research. It only took me about five minutes to track down the emergency vehicle section of the official Arkansas Drivers Education Study Guide.

“Drivers should pull over to the right edge of the road, or as near to the right as possible, when you see or hear an emergency vehicle approaching from any direction.”

Note that any direction part. I very, very rarely see people here stop when the ambulance is coming from the other direction. Who knows where that vehicle might be turning, or when it might have to swerve into the middle of the road to avoid another jackass who won’t get over.

When I’m in charge I’ll have lasers mounted to the hoods of all emergency vehicles. If somebody doesn’t get over… ZAP! Then they’ll have to pull over to fix a recently exploded tire.

Click the jump to view a graphic of my other complaint for drivers around here.

Before the show we went out for a nice dinner and apparently the ladies at the table next to us were doing the same thing. Overheard: I’m glad someone to me it’s going to be fun and it’s going to be raunchy. That’s exactly what I need for a girl’s night out.

Raunchy? Maybe. I guess it depends on whether or not you consider graphic Muppet sex to be raunchy. I prefer to think as full frontal Muppet nudity as saucy. I'm mean sure there were exposed nipples, but they were covered in fur after all.

Heavenly pork meat
Sugar glazed and spiral cut
Devoured too soon