I'm pretty sure you could fund a flight to the moon with the cash I've blown on London Fogs and those stupid Ethos water bottles (which are currently cluttering the back of my car as I write this).
When Starbucks first hit Springfield, I flashed judgey glances of fierce disapproval at anyone who provided them business. I didn't want that yuppie garbage in my hometown. Then several friends started voicing their love for Starbucks. Then several friends started working at Starbucks. Although I still tend to view Starbucks as a corporate demon, I recognized that the inherent yuppie-ness of a Starbucks customer directly combats the Midwestern-ness of the typical middle-aged Springfieldian (for which I bore a greater disapproval). The consequent conversion became much easier after that revelation.
Anyway, there's a Starbucks right across the street from the divinity school. I have a two hour break between classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Without Starbucks, I have no idea what I'd do to keep myself busy.
My friends Traci, Kitty and Caitlin frequently join me.
Kitty, Traci and I are taking a course on theologies of religious pluralism. We usually meet at Starbucks beforehand to discuss our indecent love for John Hick, an analytic theologian. I know it's sick and it's twisted to drool over a British professor born in 1922, but that doesn't generally stop us. Plus, most of VDS has a perpetual obsession with Paul Tillich, so it's good for a rebel group to branch out every now and then.
Sometimes we see celebrities at Starbucks.
The first celebrity we pegged was Keith Urban. Surprise! A country singer in Nashville?! WHO KNEW?! Every time he comes in, I always know it's Keith Urban because I think, "That's a beautiful lady, but why is she wearing a man's jacket?"
I'm still holding out for Nicole. Nicole who, although beautiful, may be a little crazy. But that would make it all the more fun.
One of our baristas is Salome from Bravo's "Make Me a Supermodel." I haven't been watching this season (I mean, what's the fun without Bronnie?); one of my friends figured it out.
Oh... and a word to the wise: don't go to Starbucks if you actually need to study. Go to Starbucks if you need to "study." Go to Starbucks if you're supposed to read a book but instead you'd rather just stare at the same page for fifteen minutes while listening to smooth jazz and wondering if you left the oven on.
I actually tried to study there on Saturday. It didn't go well, needless to say. This dude--and I'm going to call him "dude" because his hair, face, and clothes were from three distinctly different time periods in a human being's life (possibly three separate decades as well)--sat inches away from me, talking on his cell to his brother about his terrible allergies and how no, it wasn't the cat and no, it wasn't the garden he'd been working on and no, he just wasn't sure what exactly it was. I left Starbucks thinking about how glad I was that I wasn't on the other end of that phone call.
Well, I have a meeting with my field education advisor tomorrow so I should probably start wrapping this up. More word on that later. Film at eleven. No, not really. I just always wanted to say that. Okay, seriously. Have an excellent week. May all your dreams be pleasant ones... and may the rainbow arches... aw, you get it.
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