Random Bile

I have three levels of study. Level One is the skimming phase, where I am either leafing through the material to gauge how difficult it is, or I'm reviewing it to see if I've retained anything. This can be done anywhere and usually is best done midday. It can also be done at home because it doesn't take too long. Studying at home is very difficult for me because there are just too many distractions. TV, Internet, e-mail, naps...The list goes on and on. If I'm at RED ALERT study mode, I can usually get things done at home as well, but I hate going to that level.

Level Three is where everything is on track, but I can only function with a minimum of distraction. For this, I head down to the campus and stake my claim to one of the study carrels near the bathroom. When I'm there, it's with a clear-cut agenda and I am clicking through a list, getting things done pretty efficiently. I'm usually there between work and class and if I'm not too close to a deadline, but still need quality time with the books.

However, most of my studying happens at Level Two. At this level I actually need a certain level of distraction, especially when the material is particularly boring. At this level I seem to do best at a coffee shop. The problem is there are no decent coffee shops in Rogers Park. The single one I can think of is Ennui on Sheridan, and as my friend Wellesley put it, it lives up to its name.

So, to get Level Two work done, I trek down to Caribou Coffee on Halsted. I've written some pretty decent first drafts there, done some strong initial reading, and generally organized my life there. I'm happiest when I can stake out some prime real estate next to the window, looking out at Halsted. It has to be a corner table so there is no one sitting behind me, and I have to be able to reach the outlet for my antique laptop. There are three of these tables and needless to say they come at a premium. There are three more tables looking out at Cornelia, but only straight people really sit there. They don't know any better.

Today I was banished to the straight side of the coffee shop. I could have sat in one of the lounge chairs near the fire, but I tend to doze off there. I also had some writing to do and needed a table. It was a productive afternoon with enough pretty distractions so that the afternoon wasn't a complete dirge. They had my dark chocolate graham crackers, but dash it all they were out of Diet Coke and I had to settle for ice tea, and then later a genuine Coke.

I like Caribou Coffee because I actually get checked out there. I've had several torrid imaginary affairs and I'm certain I'll meet my future husband there while skimming the New York Times. I love my afternoons at Caribou Coffee.

Today, the only disappointment was the influx of white, middle-aged housewives ferrying their toddlers through on their way to the ice cream shop next door. What are these women thinking, bringing toddlers to Halsted? And why do they all look bleached and mummified in their plaid shirts and stretchy headbands? They need to be told that only their grandmothers think these screeching children are precocious. The rest of them think they're obnoxious. I travel all the way down to Lakeview to do my studying because I want to ogle attractive men and be left alone. I'm not interested in Hayley's vocabulary demonstration. This is my space, and frankly clueless straight women aren't welcome. (They are not to be confused with enlightened straight women who keep their children in dark closets like civilized people. Such women, properly coiffed are always welcome.) If they want to acknowledge they are intruders and quietly behave accordingly, I'll let them alone, but the air of entitlement that wafts behind them as they slurp their nondairy froths is like an extra-garlic pizza fart. I don't barge into Ralph Lauren to point and laugh, (although God knows there's plenty of reason to,) so they need to take their little day trips to a Starbucks on Clark Street where Little Colin was spawned in the first place. I'm not interested in being the local color that "enriches" their lives.