starbucks roundup, part uno

i spend a whole lot of time in starbuckes. so i had this idea for a new gimmick. and this is it. the starbucks roundup.

at first you might think "that is not a very clever name. there is not even any alliteration or pun or humor or originality or... etc etc" to which i say "i get it i get it, and i considered 'starbuck spotlight' or even 'starbuXmarksthespot' which is pretty clever but reminds me of the logo for Xanadu! On Broadway! but at the end of the day, i have always been partial to the idea of roundups, and the visual image of lassoing the herd of starbucks is both humorous and metaphoric.

so what i am going to do is write a little blurb about notable starbuX in the manhattan area. i will do this whenever i visit a new starbucks and remember to write about it, so you can be assured that there is absolutely no schedule and a very good chance that this could be the only entry ever. who says college grads arent dependable?

today i will highlight the three starbucks from whence my most recent iced venti sugar free vanilla americano with soy milk have come. PLEASE TRY TO CONTAIN YOUR EXCITEMENT!

1. west broadway and fourth.
this joint is a long skinny rectangle that is pretty unremarkable as far as starbucks go. however, it sits on the corner of that trendy maze that is tribeca and soho and whatever the heck else is down there, so take your coffee to go and then wander through the streets exclaiming, "this place looks so cute!" and "we have to come back here!" every three seconds. also, remember: WEST broadway, not regular broadway. if you forget and dont have a cell phone and are meeting someone there, you too may have to use a payphone to correct the address. this recently happened to one of my dear friends. A PAYPHONE!

2. 39th and 8th.
this is the starbucks grotto. as in it's enormous, not as in there are playboy bunnies in waterfalls (sorry). people. it has a LOFT. and a really cool study table with its own private balcony and hanging lamps that would be prime real estate in any college library. there are couches. and a balcony thing where you can spy on everyone ordering their drinks below you. their airconditionning is also really efficient. (read: brrrrr.) also: bankers on coffee breaks. galore.

3. the old standby! 114th and broadway.
the columbia starbucks. also rather unremarkable, save four things, which i will delineate with bullets (fancy!) so as not to confuse the list already begun:

• the seats in the window where i am sitting RIGHT NOW!


• they are filming a movie in front of me. not really cool, but the reason this post sounds like it was written by an ADHD sloth without a spell check (it was)


• you can steal columbia's wireless from said window seat and it's usually quite dependable.


• whenever someone opens the right-side door, paul mccartney's interpretation of blue steel comes frighteningly close to my face. if you snag this seat, you also can pretend that sir mccartney is hitting on you. (why doesnt anyone use the left side door? this is a trend, and weird.)

THANKS FOR JOINING US SEE YOU NEXT TIME ON... THE STARBUCKS ROUNDUP!

Elitist Slumbers

There is a certain brand of ridiculous that can be found only on this island in two rivers. What’s more, there are stupendous, stupefying things that are acceptable in Manhattan and practically nowhere else. A club that looks like a bedroom where you sip cocktails while leaning against a headboard next to a total stranger? Oh, fine. A theater festival where ‘pretentious’ is the new ‘black’ (but, with ‘theater people,’ it’s never been new) and theater bloggers (here, here) come together to blog about theater blogging. I mean, that’s graight. Bring it to the apple, and it is almost guaranteed to attract some grade of hipster and last long enough to keep you warm in the limelight until they realize you’re hip and abandon you completely for some other ostensibly post-modern act of non-conformity.

Rant-isms aside, I base much of my attraction to New York on my affinity for the ridiculous (i.e Paula Deen, dinosaur comics). So, imagine my utter joy when I uttered the words (in all seriousness, folks),

“I would like a thirty-minute nap, please.”

That’s right, kids. I paid money to take a nap. But not just any nap. I’m talking the king of all naps. The nine-course-meal-at-Per Se-that-would-make-Alastair-hard kind of nap. A nap that put me in a reclining chair designed to make you feel weightless (zero gravity napping is pretty extreme) with 500-thread-count sheets and a cashmere blanket, allowed me to choose from soothing sounds as diverse as “whales calling” and “springtime meadow” (I opted for golden silence for my golden slumbers) woke me with a simulated sunrise, and left me in a mood so zen (near zen stupor) that even Columbus Circle at peak rush hour couldn’t break.

It’s true. I paid for a nap. Not out of necessity, but to display my love of New-ridiculous-York to the world with my half-hour, midday, $18.50 luxury purchase; out of a desire to feel ridiculous (which I certainly did when I stepped into Yelo at 57th and 8th, or, rather, stepped into what looked like the lovechild of 2001: A Space Odyssey and Barbie’s Dream House). When I left, I felt ridiculous, but in a super-bad-ass kind of way. Hell yes. I’m a New Yorker. And I can take a nap better than anyone else.

(PS, I know some of you are judging me. But, somewhere along the line, you’ve paid $12 for a Jack-and-Coke weaker than my grandma. Who’s ridiculous now?)

Yelo
315 W. 57th St.
Between 8th and 9th Avenues