1984

I am beginning to think that Star***ks has more of a hold on my life than I am willing to admit. I know, I know, I have become somewhat of a champion of the independent. Independent everything. From convenience stores (other than 7-11 or White Hen) to record stores (other than Virgin or Tower). And I still believe it is very important to support those who have less in the world. Thus making us more equal in a way. This is the part of me that really, really, wants to trust the power of Socialism. But lately, I have considered why, especially, Star***ks has been demonized so much at my hands.
These thoughts have led me here:

During the 80's, when I was in high school, absorbing summers full of the Replacements and the Cure, the good REM and Sonic Youth, I had a conversation with my then girlfriend, Joyce. Seems Joyce was a bit perplexed with my musical taste, never satiated with my side affinity for 38 Special and Survivor. Our exchange went something like this:

(On a date. In my blue Pinto station wagon. The Cure's Killing an Arab blasting on my radio from K-Mart.)
Joyce - Why do you listen to that stuff?
James - What are you talking about? This is good music.
Joyce - No, it's not. It doesn't even make sense.
James - It's not supposed to make sense.
(*I was aware that this music - especially a song as loaded as Killing and Arab - made perfect sense. It was pointed and spoke to an awareness of consciousness. I was just too exhausted to go there with her)
Joyce - Well, I think that you listen to all this ‘alternative' music because you just want to stick out and be different.
James - I do not. I really like this stuff.

Now, we sort of moved on after that. Started making out or something after I changed the cassette to the Rocky 4 soundtrack, but I never forgot that conversation. Yes, I did want to be different. I did want to stand out. But I also really liked the music. And though I had no point of reference when Paul Westerberg was singing about vomit crusted floors and cigarette burns, I was completely passionate about this new sound. It made me think about freedom for the first time in my sixteen-year-old life. Freedom by way of grabbing this ‘less popular' form of culture and making it my own. Screw Top-40 music. Why did I want to listen to everything that everybody else was listening to?
So, this idea sort of sums up my problem with Star***ks. They are the big dog in the coffee world and I rebel against that. They represent everything that I don't support. But, just a few years ago, I could be found there. Sunday mornings with a paper, coffee dates and script meetings. So do I really think they are evil? Maybe not. It's just easier to give a face to the fragments of my teenage angst. And now, with a close friend contemplating employment with these grande gargoyles, I have to ask myself...what's my problem? I have some writing to finish up this afternoon. Dare I consider a Venti Caramel Mochiata with my freedom of expression? Maybe while Michael Stipe croons Don't Go Back to Rockville in the background.