Michael Jackson, Gandhi and changing the world

Just finished watching Michael Jackson's Man In The Mirror, a video that popped up in my Facebook news feed with the accompanying text:

"I dare you to watch this and NOT grow your soul, your humanity...."

I chose to try and grow my soul. I don't recall ever seeing the video before. Maybe bits and pieces of it as I looked up from assembling my baseball card collection or side glances at the TV as I kept watch for rogue attacks from my brother. I think affects me more now at age 37 then it would have at age 12 when it was released in 1988. Even if I just went back to the fridge to eat something else when my stomach is already full after watching it. Nineteen eighty eight! Holy shit.

Anyway, it's a pretty good video and you should watch it (again) too. You know you want to be one of the nearly 20 million people who've watched this particular Youtube upload. Aside from the starving faces, which I ashamedly watched while stuffing my own, the other most memorable parts of the five minute video came at 2:26 when a protester hits his target with a rock and at 2:32 when a one legged man with an AK-47 fires while hopping backwards. Wow. Pretty incredible collection of images.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PivWY9wn5ps&feature=share

"If you wanna make the world a better place, take a look at yourself then make a change."

I had just gotten home from Tous Les Jours, a crap chain bakery that is on the way home from the coffee shop. I went there out of convenience and generally find the prices to be passable, but the service way over the top, which tends to drive me out before I've even walked in. Anyway, they all screamed Welcome to Tous Les Jours or whatever it is they say, I cringed and walked around looking for a small baguette so I could make a sandwich when I got home. The guy at the door tries to throw a tray and tongs in my face, but I decline because - for one item - it is unnecessary.

He proceeds to follow me around and stand over my shoulder as I peruse my options, a plain baguette or one laced with walnuts. I glance around to see what else they have on offer and he's naturally in my way. Obscuring my view of the sign, I brush him aside and slowly start getting annoyed because he still seemingly thinks he is being helpful. I ask him if I can help him. He doesn't understand, which further clarifies to me why he shouldn't be there if he can't help me in the first place. I hate when people are humping your leg or invading your personal space. There is no personal space in this part of the world. You just have to accept it or as I tend to do, avoid the people that invade mine, which means hanging out alone often and barking at people when they get too close. 

I spotted another possible baguette alternative, a kind of half-moon shaped bread called white cream cheese something or other. I didn't necessarily want any cheese just something that was different. A change from the standard sandwich I had grown accustomed to making. Besides, their walnut baguette, as good as it is, was often laced with more peanuts than walnuts. I like peanuts, but not when I'm paying for walnuts. So I ask the guy, because naturally he's right there, if this thing has cream cheese inside. I don't want to get home, slice it open and find it's laden with that sickly shit. He eventually understands and says "no" so I grab it with my bare hands and place it on an empty tray at the counter.

The sign said 99 cents. And it looked like it had some fried cheese on the outside. I obey the sign. I have no idea if the fucking thing is a cream cheese whatchamacallit. She says that's one dollar twenty five. I'd only just barely perceived its value at a dollar and that was questionable so I hesitated. If that's the case I'd rather have the peanut bread. I tell her about the sign and she and three other staff proceed to tell me that they don't have that bread. Well, change the sign. I know how it goes, I just enjoy being a dick sometimes. So, in the end, I say I don't want it even after touching it with my bare hands. They oblige and hand me a walnut baguette (thankfully with a gloved hand because you never know where those fingers have been) and pleasantly usher me through the transaction and out the door. 

And so, I probably caused these poor folks a few minutes of distress as I come into their store in their country speaking a foreign language that they should know gaddamnit! I'm joking. I spoke pretty slow and I didn't get too agitated, only when the Mr I'll-suck-your-dick-for-a-dollar guy was stepping on my heels. I even learned why I should use a tray and tongs - in the event the sign is wrong. Well, I hope I didn't have dirty fingers cause the un-purchased bread probably made it back onto the shelf. As it does. Just remember as Michael Jackson said, if you wanna make the world a better place, take a look at yourself then make a change. I'm mainly talking to myself here.

Clearly Michael had a conversation with Gandhi before he wrote those lyrics. But wait, Gandhi died in 1948. How is that possible? Well, I'm sure that bumper sticker existed back in 1988. Be the change you wish you see in the world. It's good advice, but apparently Gandhi didn't even say that. Not in those words. However, it seems appropriate to associate it with him even if it's not the case. Whatever. Be the change, embody the change. Don't just click 'like' on a picture or a status when you identify with a particular message. Take it a step further if you can. Signing an online petition is a good first step, but it's a baby step. It took five seconds, don't fool yourself. Time for me to stop preaching and start practicing.

The cafe I love to hate

I showed up at the cafe I've grown to hate at about ten minutes til nine this morning, bleary eyes and all. You see, they have this morning special - "the morning set" they call it. It used to be any tall sized drink and any "bread" for $3, which meant nearly anything under the display case except for the stale carrot cake and various inappropriately flavored cheesecakes. Those were more expensive. I had found in previous visits that most of the pastries were unfulfilling except for the cheapest one.

Named after the cafe, the Kiriya roll came in four flavors. Matcha green tea, strawberry, chocolate or plain. A round, soft yet springy roll with a hardened sweetened exterior sprinkled with sugar was just a dollar. It was simple, just sweet enough and amply sized. Goldilocks would have approved. And all four flavors were good, my choice varied from day to day.

In the beginning, they had a tall sized (medium) local coffee for a dollar. It was by far the best deal that I had come across. This was a very generous medium and could have passed for a large even in America. Well, maybe not. I only needed a third of the black stuff before my vision was amplified and I could see through skirts and leap to the top of buildings in a single bound. But usually I drank at least half and occasionally all of the liquid crack and it had deleterious effects. My vision waxed and waned and I could no longer see through skirts. I was fine sitting in one place, but once I moved around as we are often prone to do, I could no longer function normally in society. For this reason, I tried to limit my coffee consumption to once a week or thereabouts. Sometimes more because I liked the ritual and sometimes less because I was able to feel the tension in my shoulders and rise in irritability before I placed my order.

Fast forward a month or two and the one dollar local coffee had changed to $1.75. Now it was no longer worth buying because I now realized it wasn't that good in the first place. I just liked the price and accepted the taste. It was just a business ploy to get customers in the door and hopefully order some other overpriced foodstuffs. Just like some local bars offering draft beer for 50 cents. They certainly weren't losing any money since a bag of local coffee is pretty inexpensive as are local wages. I understood and respected the decision. Besides, it just meant I would consume less of the black stuff and more of the orange stuff - carrot juice - which was more comforting and less harsh on my nerves.

I had now been coming to this cafe for approximately two months and had slowly been acquiring punches on their point card. After ten, get a free drink. After twenty, get another free drink. And after thirty, get a free coffee mug. Yeah, after all that, get a free mug that probably cost them a dollar. But I didn't have a real mug at home, just a glass and it was something to look forward to, like Christmas on a much smaller scale. I did also like the familiarity of the place even if the interior was relatively tacky and there had been a decline in attractive females working there. That was one of the initial draws, but they slowly disappeared to go work as prostitutes and I didn't know where else to go despite the abundance of coffee shops in the surrounding area.

Fast forward another month. I enter the building to everyone obnoxiously yelling Good morning! I don't despise it, but I don't like it. Yeah, yeah, morning. As I prepare to order the "morning set" I am told that the morning set is now a small sized drink and any bread. Slowly, but surely and understandably the morning set was getting reduced in value. It wasn't worth getting up that early to save fifty cents. Yes, 9am is early. And there was no longer a local coffee on the menu. I understand this business practice, but I don't like it. As I am often lured by quantity (or price in this case) as opposed to quality, there was less and less incentive to frequent this particular coffee shop.

However, after nearly three months, I had obtained twenty six punches on my card and I'll be damned if I wasn't getting my free mug. Just out of principle. My visits were becoming more infrequent and my outbursts to the friendly manager were occurring more frequently. I was having a bad morning a few mornings ago when she told me about the change in the morning set. And like a bubbling volcano, I erupted. She didn't get burned because well, she didn't give a shit and because she didn't understand everything I said. I also wasn't ranting and raving because I like to pretend like I've still got my sanity. I think I said something about the place closing down because nobody would come here and how the boss was stupid. I always try to be as charming as possible.

And now, back to this morning. As I said, I arrived at ten til nine this morning in order to take advantage of their "special." Otherwise, I would have stayed at home for another couple hours ironing out the wrinkles. Today was my 29th punch - just one more until I receive the aforementioned mug of glory. I inquired about the mug out of curiosity to see if it was the standard mug with the words Have a nice day! emblazoned at the bottom of the cup. Indeed it was. But, she told me, I was not eligible for the mug because I had gotten free drinks after the 10th and 20th punches. What!? All this time collecting stamps for naught?

This was all becoming ridiculous. All for a ceramic piece of shit with the logo of a place I had growing discomfort with every visit and quite possibly would never frequent again. Again, it was principle. I want that fucking mug! It said on the card you get a free drink after ten, a free drink after twenty and a free mug after thirty. Nowhere did it say you had to forgo the free drinks in order to get the free mug. I didn't even want the fucking mug! But now it was like a prize I had to obtain. Like those machines where you insert a quarter hoping the contraption inside would push more quarters over the side. Here, I was dropping dollars for this silly mug that essentially became this dangling carrot that I somehow associated with fame and glory. And here she was taking it away from me.

Fuck that! The mug will be mine even if I have to steal a dirty one after consuming my next coffee. I told the morning manager it was ridiculous and that the mug probably cost the company a dollar to make. She said these mugs were made in Japan and therefore cost more. They apparently sold them for $15. I laughed at the absurdity. Even Starbucks wouldn't charge that much for a mug. I kept my cool, not really angry just simmering at the little things. I even apologized for my "outburst" the last time, of which she seemingly had no recollection. She even gave me the tall size coffee this morning.

Well, one more visit and I will know where I stand. I will get my free mug, gosh darn it. And then I will go elsewhere, thank you very much. And yes, I am ridiculous.