Poetry into Film

Posted in film, German, poetry on February 7, 2011 by sparrowriot

The most redoubtable Ralf Schmerberg has created 20 short films, each featuring a poem from 20 different poets from the likes of Rilke, Celan, Hess, and Kaleko. They are each so tenderly created and meticulously handled that I am smitten. The poems are honored and lit up by the images, music and translations. Each is a treasure.

See his website here. Click on “Poem”. You will see on the lower part of the screen 20 tabs to choose from.

Customer Vs. Barista: The Great Seattle Rivalry

Posted in coffee, portland, seattle, Uncategorized on March 14, 2010 by sparrowriot

 

The notorious relationship between the barista and the customer is a dark legacy of sorts.  The barista is an unsavory pirate to customers, scowling at fru fru drinks, refusing to smile or talk and sporting any possible number of pretentious accessories meant to be hip, edgy or cool (tattoos, glasses frames, retro clothing, shag hairdos, etc) which only further separate them from a middle ground of mutual, cultural comprehension.  This is a silent knowledge.  It’s not in the interview.  I’m recognizing this at the same time as I am tattooed, have clever frames and probably dress better than you.  This is a digression.and a joke: I’m sure you dress great.

The question is: Why is it this way?  Why are baristas snobby where other food service workers are held to the masochistic code of “the customer is always right.”  What makes the barista different?  I’ve been thinking about this for a long time as I’ve been a barista for almost eight years, working in Portland, Oregon; Aspen, Colorado; and Seattle, Washington at two of the best coffee shops in the rainy city.  I started out my career at around the age of 23 and was, as explained above, a mean barista.  I would set out to intimidate, obfuscate and berate.  I become a barista because I associated it with art, music, culture, and alternative/intellectual culture.  These were, at least in the Pacific Northwest, correct assumptions, however, not until recently, have I come to realize what I was actually trying to be a part of.

The artisan coffee sub-culture is a connoisseur niche, like wine, tobacco, or gourmet food.  A small number of people are experts and a large number of people flock to them for the product.  With any product which is of superior quality (or of artistic quality), class designation and respective status’ become somewhat obscured.  Yes, the barista is serving the coffee and is the blue collar, low-income portion of the equation, BUT, in theory, the barista knows more about your order than you do, knows about the history and nuances of the product you want, and can help you or hurt you at their leisure. They have studied, experimented and struggled toward eventual success.  With knowledge comes power, and the standard relationship is upset.  The result is what is perceived by ignorant customers and baristas alike as a rivalry.  Actually, baristas who are, in fact, knowledgeable about their product and can present it perfectly (latte art, demitasse, timing, etc) and have come to a place where they respect themselves and the undeniable fact of unknowledgeable customers, have chilled out, grown up and realized that, though they are gods in their subculture, they are still behind the counter to give the customer what they order and the customer will never care as much as they do about the product. 

Once this is accepted, a weight is lifted.   I don’t have to prove anything to anyone anymore.  Sometimes, I am lucky enough to encounter one of our own in a younger stage.  They are sincerely interested in palette and profile and they ask questions and want advice.  This allows me to excel beyond the role of counter help or ‘barista’, a term which is unfortunately also ascribed to Starbucks employees, and into the realm of the connoisseur, where I can educate and mutually celebrate coffee.

There is another aspect than coffee to the barista world and that is people.  A constant and friendly, tipping regular is forgiven everything.  A good-looking or cultured appearing apparition is flirted with, and an elderly couple who takes 10 minutes to order, if they remind you of your own grandparents, are treated with charm and finesse.  Non-tippers, I think, deserve cold treatment, as it is an effort to socially engineer, to train.  Likewise, if someone still thinks it’s acceptable to talk on his/her cell phone at any customer service counter, I feel it’s my charitable duty to tell them that they won’t be helped until the phone is out of sight.  “Why?” the customer asks, offended, “Because it’s very rude.”  This is a fact.  These are two side reasons for a barista’s chilly behavior, though the customer’s behavior is not the reason that creatures of the barista culture are snobby. 

Beyond the evolution of the ‘barista’ from an Italian bartender, who also prepares espresso, to an American brat, and the connection of the barista to class status based on pride and knowledge, there are hundreds, no thousands of baristas who think they know about coffee and don’t, or who know nothing about coffee and are simply following the cultural signals to be rude, as when I began doing barista work.  In Colorado, I was not serving a quality product, even though the coffee shop I managed (and made coffee at) roasted the coffee on site.  They didn’t do it like they do here; nevertheless, I convinced myself that I was special and knew something and flared my barista feathers all over the place.  I was, in a sense, a poser, as most baristas across America are.  They know a little, maybe, like how to work the machine, but they have no inkling about the tiny details that go into buying, roasting, and preparing a good cup of coffee.  They can’t really tell, by taste and sight, a good shot from a bad.  They can look at the crema and color and guess, but it takes a lot of study to understand what’s going on.  It’s hard and it takes time.

I was in Grand Junction, Colorado and asked a barista if the drink on the counter was my drink because I had been in the second room of the huge coffee shop.  He was very rude and told me he calls the drinks out and I need to listen.  This is typical barista treatment and I remember the frustration I felt when customers didn’t follow the rules.  I was still livid.  I let him know that I am aware that he calls drinks out, that I do listen, and that the coffee shop is busy and big and he should not get so ruffled if a customer wonders if his/her drink is getting cold on the counter. Rude treatment relegates the customer to standing scared in the corner wondering if the drink was called and not heard.  He backed off.  I was upset because the coffee was not good, the milk was not steamed very well, therefore, this barista had no idea what he was fighting for.  I understood though as this used to be me.  I think that aristocrats probably had a hard go at it when the bourgeois culture started to emerge and act up at the turn of the century, and the bourgeois probably weren’t sure how to act or how to assert themselves.  Am I comparing artisan or connoisseur culture to the emerging bourgeois?  Yep, in the sense of cultural morphing and behavior as various roles and positions evolve, I am. Time will tell.

Away We Go

Posted in film with tags , , , , on February 26, 2010 by sparrowriot

 

In Away We Go, Burt and Verona, who are expecting their first child, take a trip to visit friends and family in different places in order to find the right community in which to settle. The film was about steering clear of false security, exploring a sense of homelessness (while searching for the right home), and about searching for the recipe for creating a healthy and abundant family. It was about being alone, together.  The couple had each other and their baby to be, but nothing else in the world really knew them or understood them. The film,  in general, stayed clear of sentimentality and quick fixes, recognizing the universal desire to find one’s own ‘people’, and often the failure or inability to find them. The whole movie was based, again, on the idea of attempting to navigate through false security and finding a home, a sense of hearth, which seemed would never pan out locationally or geographically, though it became clearer and clearer that the couple’s home was in each other and that they had a genuinely loving and healthy union. This was made clearer and clearer by the contrast of Burt and Verona with the people they visited on their journey. The pathos in the film was so beautiful that it raised the two main characters up as archetypes of young lovers in our era.

There were no perfect moments, perfect places, or perfect people until the very end, when it became a fairy tale.  Instead of being heart warming, the ending left me with a sunken feeling of artfulness.  It was as if it was a true story until the last scene when they returned to Verona’s childhood home. Suddenly, the problem was visibly solved.  The couple walked through the home to the doors opening to the ocean, where they sat on the deck. They had obviously finished their journey. Suddenly: “Oh yeah, we can live in my deceased parents beautiful house on the ocean on our beautiful estate. It was here all the time, an actual piece of super valuable real estate.  I wonder why we’ve been living in a shack in the Midwest with cardboard windows Let’s live in this house. Now that the movie is over I can visibly begin to heal from my parents death and go back to where I grew up.”

Of course, this is a very personal take on the ending. One can also see it as Verona finally coming home and facing a path toward healing from the grief of her parents death. The young couple replace the parents. The cycle of life all that it entails is wrapped up in the scene of homecoming.

It’s a heartwarming ending, free and clear, but at the same time, to me,  it undercuts the potency of the message of the home they had in their love for each other as well as reinforcing false perceptions that most people have that if you have a physical home, you have abundance. It almost belies its own intentions and turns away from the audience that can relate to the couple; an audience that may not have a secret house.  I wanted the movie to portray an idea that there is hope, even if you don’t have a community and even if you have no means, together you make a gorgeous universe, and that the homelessness is not homelessness, rather, simply a lack of property—a journey. If there was to be any glossy ending, it should have been, I think,  about finding actual people to increase their love. I liked the movie a lot and recommend it, but the authenticity which prevailed throughout was forfeited in order to tidy up and end the film.

Young Victoria

Posted in film with tags , , , , , on February 15, 2010 by sparrowriot


The film, Young Victoria, was consumed by my friend Ann and I last Super Bowl Sunday along with a Trader Joe’s truffle milk chocolate bar, big buttered popcorn and ample vitamin water, while the men of the world (and women who like football and the women who want to)  watched the Saints come home.

This film was a romance straight and true. Yes, it was hisorical and the costumes, jewelry and sets were pristine, however, this movie is about true love prevailing.  There were moments, however, when the love story was a pale second to one of those necklaces. The very young Queen Victoria didn’t have to marry for means, which was a nearly non-existent situation at that time.  She, as the queen, would marry for political weight or for love, and though the lacing of the plot intertwines a few dashes of political drama, the propellor of this movie is the romance between Victoria and Albert-the hope for and very satisfying eventual union of the couple.   The virtuosity of the romance was paced and dealt with in such a way, any modern girl could feel that her “Jane Austin” fix (love and marriage, strong or otherwise justified female protagonist and last but not least, a gallant and underestimated male interest) was satisfied, along with the historical and regal attachments which add extra lush to the story for us if only in an abstract way, though quite accurate.
The difference between this romance and a fictional one is hope- that a queen could find love within her permitted sphere of social movement.  There is, undoubtedley a cynic-melting color to the story and is triumphantly heart breaking in that Queen Victoria laid out her husband’s clothes everyday after he died till her death ap.40 years later. I’m sorry, as a side note to the feminists and progessive citizens out there exhausted by stories of the formulaic heterosexual love to marriage, and believe me, I undertand the cynism toward it; that said, I’ll not knock the romance for being the animal that it is.

Prince Albert was so handsome and though his costumes were impeccably of the era, his hair and tight pants replicated a modern edge so well, that his sex appeal was catapulted into 2010.  For lack of better words:  He was so fine.  The role of the male interest was interesting in that he was a submissive character who, through the course of the film, finds his own role in the relationship and his own identity.  If Prince Albert remained inferior in attitude toward the Queen, I would have become detached emotionally from the couple, but he of course, prevailed into his own and became even hotter.

Go see it girls ( and gay guys). As far as everyone else, I just don’t know.  My friend has just ended a relationship, therefore, the poignancy of love gained and lost was palpable.  It’s okay to skip out on sports to go to a romance movie, buy smut when you’re PMSing and eat the hell of the popcorn, and Queen Victoria utterly fit the bill.

Coffee in Seattle: A Tour

Posted in coffee, seattle with tags , , , , , , , on January 16, 2009 by sparrowriot

img_0862If you are going to come all the way to Seattle, don’t be the tourist who goes to the Starbuck’s at Pike’s Place and believes that they’ve done the “Seattle coffee thing.”  No! No! Bad Tourist!  To be truly touched by the magic of the artisan sub-culture, you need to try a little harder, and I promise you that it is worth it.  You must visit and experience the local coffee shops and you MUST try a cupping.  A what?  It’s like a wine tasting, spitting and all.  You are so excited, no?

First, go to Vivace in Capitol Hill.  This coffee shop is the pioneer of latte art and artisan espresso in Seattle and takes much pride in presentation and preparation.  To be honest, I don’t love the espresso, but if you’ve never had freshly roasted, fresh espresso pulled by a highly trained Seattle barista, this is splitting hairs. The mochas are fantastic.  They use magical chocolate.  Next, go to Stumptown, a Portland based coffee company, again, in Capitol Hill. Order a machiato or doppio because you need to get a load of this espresso.  It’s chocolaty with a delightful orangey-ness making eyes at your palette.  Flirt back. Attend the daily cuppings downstairs at the 12th and Mercer location at 3pm daily.  This is a must do.  Cup!  Cup!  Cup!.   It’s really interesting. You will learn that “bold” and “dark” are not actually the only words available to describe coffee.

Next..and by next, I mean next day unless you are able to handle a lot of caffeine.. hit Zoka.img_1660 Go to the Greenlake location.  Here, you want to try the coffee.  Zoka has been known for roasting each type of coffee to bring out the unique personality and profile of various beans.   Buy a pound of coffee from here.  Ask for advice on which pound.  I recommend the Mexican Nayarita if they have it (lots of berry going on) or the Sumatra Lake Tawar (Earthy, earthy, planty, earthy).  Give the espresso a shot (ha!) as well.  Your experience will depend on who’s pulling.  Lots of variation going on here in regards to barista skill level.   I think you should get a structured, masculine voice with a citrus acidity (from the espresso). I haven’t been here in a while though and the espresso changes, or at least it did; so, the coffee is the sure bet.  After that, not much to offer here.  It’s basically an affluent neighborhood with customers merging souls with their laptops.  Ewwww.

Herkimer is the best.  Um, yes I work there, but that is why I work there, because it is the best.  Yum.  And they don’t advertise.  How cool.  Go to the one in the University District.  Awesome owner (Kara is a latte art goddess, amazing espresso (every time), spicy baristas, and a wonderful space with good art.  This is a small, quality shop.

img_0763

Get anything here.  The espresso is so complex.  Spices (cardamon and clove), floral, chocolate, cherry….and on and on.  You’ll want to invite it to a party after you taste it.  Or talk politics with it.  Very interesting and so mysterious. Herkimer is my dreamboat espresso.

Next!!  And now it’s in no particular order.  Victrola in Capitol Hill (art is good sometimes, baristas are great all the time).  Lighthouse Roasters in the Phinney area (amazing espresso last time I stopped by), Vita, which is a Seattle legacy but/and has gotten pretty big with multiple locations.  The espresso is nutty with caramel, if you’re lucky. If you’re not lucky, you won’t be able to figure out what the big deal is.   This place has an ambitious air and “hot” girls with short skirts. So, it’s definitely an image location.  Which is fun and funny.img_1663

So, there is your tour for when you come to Seattle. Don’t screw it up and order coffee with flavors.   Take a chance on this fantastically detailed culture and re-introduce yourself to the beverage which is the second most traded commondity in the world.

Machiato

Machiato

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.