Hipster Gromit

Gromit is in need of a grooming.  I love his look right now and I don’t want to groom him.  He has the Rastas doodle do — he looks just like Big Bird’s Dog or as someone called him the other day the abominable snow dog - Ha.  

I think metro-sexual dogs like Gromit prefer to be coiffed.  I have been wondering today whether I have really taken into account his natural dernier cri?  Why you might ask?  Well, I just got a dose of having that awkward realization that in a particular setting I did not fit in, not my style or my age or for that matter my vehicle - like truly I was just out of my element.  I think I might understand how it feels to suddenly be unhip.   I think Gromit prefers to be a part of the hip crowd.  It must be so hard to have such an uncouth person setting his grooming schedule and style for him. 

Neither Gromit nor I  look in the mirror often and when I do it is to make sure my shoes match, my sweater is not on backwards, and to check to see if there are any dryer sheets clinging to the hem of my pants.  I don’t take an in depth look at the pores on my face, count the crows feet around my eyes, check to see if the number of chins has doubled or whether there are any gray hairs to pluck.   I think we both forget we are aging.  This day I was jolted not by the fact that I can apply the same thick Nivea hand creme to both my hands AND the delicate skin on my face, as it soaks in completely without giving me zits.  Oh no, I was jolted by a whole population of people starting to take over the world that are younger, are thinkers and have a style that I had not been aware existed until I felt like an alien in their presence.

I am having a stay-cation of sorts.  I am taking a week off of work and enjoying family and tackling a couple of things that I would like to do in reclaiming the home I live in.  Today I decided I needed to accomplish something.  So I went running with my friend Susan.  But wait, that wasn't my accomplishment.  I whipped up breakfast and even that was not my accomplishment -I made myself toast with peanut butter.  I cleaned the shower.  That was my house accomplishment.   I am on vacation and did chores and exercised - so what if they weren’t on my true house reclaiming list, I thought I deserved a little time at a coffee shop.  I hadn’t done it for years. 

I used to frequent a coffee shop to write music.  I know it seems kind of odd to sit in a coffee shop and write music but I needed to get away from the piano and think through what was on the page.  Anyway, I would walk to the coffee shop to get some exercise.  I frequented a cafe known for its lesbian friendliness and as a local independently and women owned establishment - Blue Moon.  It was before Caribou and Starbuck’s and Dunn Bros had taken over the Twin Cities and you went for the coffee brew and the ambiance of the shop.  It was not a time when coffee shops were supposed to look the same and you could feel like you were in MN even when visiting NYC because Starbucks brewed the same coffee in the same cups.  I like Starbucks, just pointing out it was a different time.  

Blue Moon was a first date place during the 12 step boom.   The coffee shop was quiet and had great music that you would not hear on the radio or in the elevator.  It had art on the walls and published written works,  poems and t-shirts for sale and a calendar of community events that would be  happening at the coffee shop.  There was a community bulletin board to leave a business card, post rental/roommate flyers, and 12 step meetings.  There were old recycled board games in case you didn't want to 'process' with your friend during your coffee time. I could sit and quietly write music.  I could drift away from the world and everyone would be doing their own thing.  You could people watch and it was hip to know the owners but not exclusive.   You could show up in a flannel shirt or a dress - fit or flowing.  Social Worker or Granola or Pagan or Queer or Straight.  It didn’t matter all were welcome.  Everything was acceptable.  Everything was expected.  Everything was understated because everyone was dressed differently.  Blue Moon was one of the top coffee shops in the cities.  It is still here and is still a warm place to stop in and visit.

So, in this sense of nostalgic staycation bliss I looked up the ten best coffee shops in the Twin Cities.  I thought I was doing just fine because right away City Pages came up with a list of the 10 best local coffee shops.  Exactly what I wanted, independent places.  And City Pages - that is hip.  They still actually have a paper in print - nostalgic and oh so retro.  Something quiet, with art on the wall and a good fresh cup of coffee.  Independent music and space to think.  Maybe read the New York Times that I haven’t gotten through from Sunday. 

Here were my choices -
In my neighborhood - at least I live in a hip neighborhood
    •    Angry Catfish:  http://angrycatfishbicycle.com/
    •    Peace Coffee:  http://www.peacecoffee.com/
    •    Dogwood Coffee:  http://www.dogwoodcoffee.com/

I had to rule out Angry Catfish because I don’t have a fat tire bike and I wasn’t going to drive my minivan to a coffee bar/trendy unique bike shop.   That is the place they put hammered steel fenders on my Casseroll Salsa bike.  And they were psyched about it - so was I !

Peace Coffee is next to the micro cinema - Trylon:  http://www.trylon.org/.  I have seen  showings of cult film classics like the scary Halloween Japanese cult classic Hausu - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_%281977_film%29 the main girl characters have names like Gorgeous, Fantasy and Melody.  Oh to see Melody get eaten by the piano - nothing like it in the horror films of today!  Plus I might see some of my old co-ed softball buddies there -

Dogwood is within walking distance, has awesome pour over coffee, shopping at Forage:  http://www.foragemodernworkshop.com/ and, dang it was packed!

The place I picked was in a new neighborhood  - Spyhouse:  http://spyhousecoffee.com/
Sounded like they brewed awesome coffee and had cool architecture and it was on Broadway.  To my liking - the art district in NE Mpls.  It was 1pm and who would be having coffee at 1 on a Monday afternoon.  So I got in the car and had to use the GPS to get there.  When I arrived the street parking was full, luckily there was a building parking lot behind the coffee shop.     My van was a little big for the parking lot spaces and I noticed the hipster Volvo's BMW's and Prius'.   Doesn’t anyone have big dog vehicles anymore?   I had to walk like half a block to get to the entrance.    

On the walk around the corner of the building I spied with my little eyes - a hip craft brewery, a sewing/design studio, a CORE power yoga stop and a boot camp type work out place.  I was already feeling over my head and what was with a full parking lot?  The place couldn't be that busy could it? 

Whatever possessed me to try to put my head up and keep walking into the coffee shop, I will never know.  I think it might be likened to stubbornness.  Or as Paul, my younger, hipper brother said to me - I was going to just walk in and own the space.  Walk in I did.  When I got in it was humming and packed.  Did I mention that we don’t use shop or cafe anymore - these are coffee bars, ahem.   It was dark and there was indie punk music playing.  There were more glowing silver Apples flipped up and open than I had ever seen in one place.  No one had a pencil, notebook or a barely held together board game with missing pieces.  No two people were sitting intently looking at each other on a first date.    There was no artwork on the walls because the warm wooden tables were the artwork and they all faced the same direction.  They were lined up like a classroom.  

I looked around and there was no way I could stay.  I was not dressed right - I thought of my Great Aunt Gladys immediately and understood now why she had to ask if she could get away with a denim skirt before I would pick her up to head downtown to the Espresso Royale coffee cafe for a few hands of Bridge.  I should have called and asked the barista - can I get away with my sporty granola look - hiking boots and cords with a baggy cotton sweater?  I felt naked with my Target gloves without e-tips (for using my smart phone and not having to take them off).    Instead of having a hip California look to them, these young people had an refined/updated Paul Bunyan look, trimmed beards, tailored fit jeans,  polished black boots. They made body piercing and tattoo art status quo.  They all had fitted down jackets hanging on the back of their chairs - no leather jackets in this place.   I was old, baggy, saggy, and had comfortable shoes on.

The place was humming with conversation and reminded me of the way we no longer separate work and play.  This is a generation of independence and consulting.  They do not work for people they work for themselves and if you want their skills you cannot own them you can hire them but you will not own them like when you work for a company - work for the ‘man’.  They work when they want and are interested in their work.  There were as many men as women drinking coffee.  They chatted and typed and sipped. 

I felt so obviously out of place that I made myself get in line for coffee of course.  Still I thought - I have my mac in my backpack.  Oh yeah, I was one of them no matter what it ‘looked’ like.    So what if my backpack was dangling open because I didn’t remember to zip it shut after I put my reading glasses in or the fact that I never put the NYTimes in.  So what if it had the name of a bank on it and that I had to empty my knitting out of it before I put my laptop into it.   My apple will glow just like anyone else in this coffee speakeasy.  I suddenly realized how invisible I was when  a couple of women just walked in and stood in front of me in the line.  

That was it - I was so uncomfortable I couldn’t stand in line any longer.  I took my gloves off, smiled that I had to take them off and typed a quick text to my good friends to explain what had just happened.  I was laughing - this is not a feel sorry for Heidi moment it was hilarious to me.  I wasn’t really invisible I am sure my indecision made me look like I wasn’t in line. 

It was energizing.  It is a moment when you realize there is change and I am glad for that.  I will go back to this place dressed a little more to disappear in the crowd.  I will find a corner and stay and watch and learn.   When I couldn’t fathom how things will get better I realize there are changes coming changes are already happening.   And this was such a small corner of the change but such an obvious moment.  


Later that evening I had dinner with my hip neighbors and Paul and their good friend from Texas.  They told me that high waisted jeans are coming back into fashion, zubas  and mullet hair styles too - is there any way to explain retro is not always hip? 

I ended up at Peace Coffee and enjoyed my visit, coffee and table with personal outlet for my Mac. 

I am going to get Hipster Gromit in to get his groom on.  It is winter and shearing him when his coat is of no use to anyone might seem impractical - but no one owns a Gromit.  He does get a certain walk about him when he comes fresh from the groomer.  He prances about like a doodle ready for a night at the opera or a dramatic poetry reading.  And that makes me wonder  — how hip is the Gromit?  At 11 does he see himself as the senior dog that he is, or does he want to mix it up and be best in show(ing off).   Perhaps I will get him the doodle version of a Brazilian blow out — a nice shampoo and brush out. 

Perhaps I will pick up a fitted down dog jacket for him to match his manicured beard and exquisite feathery tail.  I don’t think I can do a piercing  - but his dog chip could count for that?  He has had that since he was a baby dog.  I know he is getting older.  He still likes to walk at the dog park on occasion but we stay on the periphery of the riff raff and raucous youngsters.  He is energized by them but not really interested in a serious tussle or race these days.  

I am updating his nose work equipment so that he won’t have to be embarrassed by my less than airtight container that you can see through.  The odor tins won’t be rusted any more.  Fortunately he got into this new sport on the edge.  He was one of the charter movers and shakers in the canine world of nose work in Minnesota.   Even if he is not the most titled dog in MN he can plug in with the best of them and hang in the coffee bars of nose work without feeling old.   As the nose work people would say - Happy Sniffing my boy - happy hipster sniffing!