DEAR ALIZARIN: Babbling Psychos

After my lovely hike, I went to make use of the wireless internet and caffeine of the Psychobabble Cafe. Though often a nice, mellow place to procrastinate in a new environment via the internet, it definitely is unpredictable.

A few weeks ago, for instance, there was the afternoon of bad 80's tunes (Prince excepted) not really conducive to the artist cafe atmosphere.

Tonight, it started with the "Lincoln Debate" group. From what I overheard, it started because some girl from Marshall High School, Lisa, wanted to start a science group. So they gathered to debate Lincoln. One other pair who arrived questioned the connection. The rest of the eclectic attendees proceeded to discuss Lincoln and the constitution and debates. I didn't pay much attention, but these were key words.

Next, I was told that I need to move for the upcoming open mic night. Since there were not too many other places to sit, I squished my table for one over near the couches, placing me in the back corner of the "stage" facing out toward the "audience." One performer sitting directly in front of me kept glancing my way, I assume, because of my inappropriate reactions as I attempted to type some stories (ok, blog entries procrastinating writing stories) and chatted online. I could not tell if he was amused or judgmental, but I liked the dancing of his eyes and his rapt attention given to the other performers.

Which were at times quite intolerable. It started up with several attempts at stand-up comedy. First was the preppie college kid who looked really out of place in this rather hippie cafe. It took me a few minutes to figure out he was a comic. Then some older man went up and tried to make some jokes about Nazis. I didn't follow. The next guy was funny and tried to draw me into his act, but I just can't keep up and had no response (not that he waited) to his question about what I was working on. He was followed by someone who actually worked on his act, though I didn't really appreciate his style of humor. Ok, he had a few good moments and I chortled, a bit inappropriately, when he asked "Who's vagina are they smelling?" in a bit about vaginas smelling like tuna. At some point, he mentioned scientology, which set off the man in the wedding dress. And not just a wedding dress, but this man had on a letterman jacket over the dress, a baseball cap, pigtails, jeans under the dress, and sneakers. Everyone seemed to know him since as he raged about how he loved L. Ron Hubbard, several people responded, "George, take it outside."

Finally, a singer.

The worst singer/songwriter ever, that is. This guy sang, purposefully, in this whiny voice complaining about how lazy Americans are. Then he started screaming. I got up to go to the bathroom in preparation for leaving, and had a moment to chat with the 'feature' artist who kept glancing at me as I typed 'on stage.'
"You are like an extra performer there on stage."
"Yeah, the Star typist. "
I explain how I didn't it was open mic night.
"Well now you know. "
"Yes, it is a good thing to know."
"In case you want to watch . . . or avoid it."
Damn, he's a fucking mind reader, too.

Then hopefully he knows I felt a bit badly walking out after his first song (which was connected to the second with a musical interlude and didn't give grooveva, who met me there just as the show was beginning and has an even lower tolerance for such plebian entertainment, and I an appropriate place to get up and leave). But whiny man had my head pounding and jetlagged weighed on my eyelids.

Like a man, a good cafe, apparently, is just hard to find, and when you find one, is often unreliable.