drewmckinney.net

Facebook. I just don’t get it.

During the 80’s my parents had a couple of retail stores that were located in Ventura, California. Old Towne Country Shoppe (you could tell it was authentic because of the liberal use of the letter ‘e’) was located in, well, the old part of Ventura. Heather House Collectibles was located a few blocks away on Main Street in a more modern part of town. I mean towne.

It was 1982 so things were still safe in America. I roamed the streets of Ventura without adult supervision and made friends with lots of the local shop owners. I bought a nine-iron from Al at the junk store and I earned a cactus from Dick (now now, no jokes, he was a nice fella) for washing underneath the planters. Jim and Dave (yes, they were a couple) owned the candy store and Georgette owned the coolest toy store in the neighborhood. I visited these people daily, they were my friends and often times they were my employer. For an eight year old, running around Ventura doing odd jobs sure beat hanging out in a stuffy old store filled with things that weren’t supposed to be touched by kids.

Inevitably, sometimes I did end up hanging out in that stuffy old store though. The place was filled with Lladro figurines, thimbles, collectible plates, lithographs, and Little People (the original Cabbage Patch Kids, not the small adults). Most days in the store were very boring for me. I’d usually watch soaps on the television in the back room or read Hardy Boys books. One time I accidentally spilled a can of paint on the carpet. Yeah, slow times at the Heather House.

Except for Thursdays. Something always happened on Thursdays. Well, nothing really happened but there was always an interesting person to be afraid of.

You see, Thursday was the day that busloads of patients from the Camarillo State Mental Hospital were brought in to downtown Ventura. Most of these people were schizophrenic and they were allowed to run around without adult supervision. Sometimes they wandered into our store, it being on Main Street and all.

While nobody ever got violent, the patients could be downright weird and it was a little frightening for everybody involved. It was a time for shop owners to stand on the street and talk to the neighbors, you know, swap stories about who had the weirdest weirdo stop in. We definitely had our share of weirdness.

There was the gentleman that was being followed by the CIA. He hurried in the store and stood by the blinds, repeatedly peeking out to the street and warning us to be quiet or they’d find him. He did that for about three hours before leaving.

There was the young lady that came in and said she needed a nap. She sat down at the adoption table (where people sat down and signed the ‘adoption papers’ for the Little People) and began beating her fists on it in a right-left-right fashion. This lasted for over an hour and then she suddenly stood up and left, without ever taking her nap.

The person that really sticks in my mind after all these years though is The Coffee Lady.

Complimentary coffee was available for people that wandered into the store but my mom, being Mormon and not a coffee drinker, didn’t always remember to have a fresh pot available. One Thursday afternoon, a heavy-set woman wearing an unflattering frock came in the store. She looked around for a few minutes and then asked my mom if it was okay to have some coffee. My mom looked at the coffee pot and realized that she had forgotten to brew some fresh stuff, the machine was off and there was a couple inches of dark liquid that had been cold for a few hours.

“Hold on a few minutes, I’ll make a fresh pot,” said Mom. She started walking over to the Mr. Coffee but was stopped en route by the woman.

“No, please, I want that coffee.” She spoke so slowly it sounded something like “Nnnoooo plllleeeease, IIIIIII waaaaannt thaaaaat cawwwwfeeeee.” Right away, Mom realized that she was dealing with one of Camarillo’s residents.

“It’s no trouble, really, that stuff is cold and has been sitting there for hours. Why don’t you wait a minute and I’ll have a fresh pot for you. Drew, go to the back and read one of your books.” I could tell my mom was scared, usually one of her friends was in the store with her but for some reason she was working alone. I went to the back but I didn’t read anything, instead I hid behind the partition and peeked into the store proper.

Once again, “Nnnoooo plllleeeease, IIIIIII waaaaannt thaaaaat cawwwwfeeeee.” The Coffee Lady slowly raised her arm and pointed a long, skeletal finger at the coffee machine.

“Well, whatever you want, I’ll be over here if you have any questions about anything.” Mom may have been scared but she was always on the hunt for making a sale.

The Coffee Lady shuffled over to the coffee and poured a few ounces into a styrofoam cup (it being 1982, CFC’s were still unknown to the general public). She picked up the cannister of Coffee Mate and poured, oh I don’t know, five or six inches worth into the cup. She then picked up one of those little red stirring straws and set about making herself a nice coffee paste. When it was at the consistency of her liking, she scooped a little out with the end of the stirring straw and placed it on her tongue. She stood there for a half hour, slowly eating her way through the cup of paste she had made. When she was finished, she tossed the cup into the wastebasket and started to shuffle out the store. Before exiting, she turned her head to my mom.

“Thaaaaaannnnk youuuuuu. IIIIIII reaalllllly neeeeeeded thaaaaat.”

Mom looked to the back of the store and saw me peeking at her. She shrugged at me and smiled. It was time to close the store for the day.

I dunno what’s going on with this picture. Anybody have any guesses? Funny, but strange funny…

Blendtec answers the age-old question, “Will an iPhone blend?”

Here’s mine:

Go to the Simpsons official movie site to make your own.

Here’s why.

Have you seen what could possibly be the ugliest web site ever? Wow.

While I was waiting for the Transformers movie to start, I decided to send a tweet. While I was typing it in, I eavesdropped on the conversation that was taking place behind me. The guy was saying to his girl that he believed Twitter should have some sort of tagging feature. Me listening in on a conversation about Twitter while I’m Twittering. I found it delightful.

Interesting idea about tagging, but I couldn’t really think of a good way to tag Twitter posts. Is there a point to doing that anyway? Seems like such small chunks of info shouldn’t need tags.

Somewhere down the line there will be a Technorati/Twitter mashup but I’m not visionary enough to see the point of it.

In the meantime, if you want to friend me or whatever it’s called on Twitter, you can find my info here.