Due to the fact that I have a developmental biology exam tomorrow that has the substantial potential to expand the scope of the term ass kicking, I rose early this morning and, somewhat panic-striken yet still clinging to hope, ventured to the Tully's at the top of Seattle's Queen Anne neighborhood to study cram for a few hours.
I've slowly embraced the concept of studying outside of my home since beginning graduate school over a year ago. I've found that studying in a more public atmosphere depresses some of the detrimental odd study habits I've developed over the years. At home, for example, I've embraced (much to Zach's disappointment) the joys of studying in bed. This oddity has the twofold disadvantage of both frustrating Zach when he wants to sleep (and is met with a bed scattered with pens, books, papers, and my great hulking mass) and frustrating myself since my mind associates the bed with "sleep" more than "studying," and I therefore easily nod off, transforming studytime into naptime. We also lack a coffeemaker at home; thus, caffiene usually arrives in the form of a number of strong, black teas at our disposal. These beverages, however, usually do little to provide a small "productive jolt" that helps me hit the books (or stay awake in bed), and often instead invigorate me to the manic extent that I prance and pace up and down the hallways mumbling to myself about whether Star Trek V: the Final Frontier would be a better movie dubbed in Pig Latin.
I discovered quickly that coffee shops lack beds for me to study (unproductively) in, and provide the much-preferred "productive jolt" of a mild espresso beverage rather than the "mind-warping jar" of Earl Grey tea. In addition to these two advantages, I've found that most coffee shops here in Seattle also have the added bonus of dampening other annoying or distracting habits that also detract from my ability to concentrate. Constant levels of background noise, for example, keep my mind from wandering onto other, unrelated matters. A crowded coffee shop or lazy pub (if you're like me, and can also study while enjoying a beer) is an environment that will also keep me from humming, pacing, or killing time on the computer - all dreadful habits that would keep me from my ultimate goals: concentrating and studying.
Particularly when I've a small mountain of reading for classes to tackle, therefore, I've become a fan of Seattle coffee shops (or, occasionally, lazy neighborhood pubs). Their environments force me into a setting where most distractions upon which I usually rely to decrease productivity are absent or at least dampened.
Unfortunately, most of habits I've accumulated to help me concentrate have proven distracting to others. Most of these oddities, I feel, are rather harmless: picking my eyebrows, shaking one leg (always one!) nervously, crossing my legs, tapping my fingers on a tabletop, or occasionally removing one socked foot from its shoe to wiggle my toes. They're pretty strange, I'll grant you -- but, they aren't habits that I ever imagined would annoy or disgust others. Yet, over the past year, I've picked up passive aggressive cues from my fellow Seattlites in a number of coffee shops and cafes in a number of neighborhoods (Wallingford, Fremont, the University District, and Eastlake) that have proven me sorely mistaken: my habits are utterly abominable and unwelcome interruptions to daily tranquility.
The cues themselves vary from person to person and situation to situation. In one Wallingford coffee shop, a few patrons saw me remove a bare foot from my sandal one spring afternoon, flex my toes for a minute, and reunite foot and sandal. Those patrons quietly complained to a barista, and the barista politely asked me to refrain from "walking around barefoot." In another instance, some patrons at a Fremont establishment saw me picking my eyebrow while reading up on cell differentiation vs. cell determination, and proceeded to have a loud conversation with one another on how disgusting it is to watch people pick their eyebrows. Quite possibily the best example, however, came from a young woman who, drinking alone in a local pub, saw me sitting cross-legged in a chair and, pretending that her phone had vibrated, took the phone out of her pocked and proceeded to have a conversation with no one about how "disgusting" it is when people cross their legs in chairs. Though I hadn't seen through her act initially, I realized she wasn't talking to anyone when her phone rang loudly midway through her tirade.
Since I was raised to "always think of others," I have taken great strides to bottle up these accidental oddities. The benefits of studying in public still greatly outweigh the amount of brain activity I expend attempting to avoid these annoying habits. But, the act of avoiding these distractions is still - essentially - a distraction itself. Thus, today, I sought an environment in which I felt my concentration oddities would be welcomed or, at least, tolerated.
Over the past few months, I've discovered Seattle's Queen Anne neighborhood as a potential haven for the toleration of oddities. My misadventures in this high hill (rising above most of the city) have, to my initial delight, provided ample evidence that Queen Anne residents are a bit off kilter themselves. For example, though the city as a whole seems to encourage pot smoking, but views jaywalking as a degenerate act more reprehensible than pedophilia, I nevertheless find myself stoping every five feet or so while driving down Queen Anne Avenue for spontaneous jaywalkers (who don't seem to be high). I've also encountered a number of drivers in Queen Anne who, at night or during rainstorms, drive with their headlights off. When I, like a proper Midwestern driver, briefly flash my headlights to alert them to this potentially dangerous omission, they joyously wave back, misinterpreting my warning as a friendly greeting. I am also in awe of Queen Anne residents, since I see a vast majority of them out in the middle of winter (and the winter rains) with no coat or umbrella. It's almost as if they seem impervious to the detrimental effects of being-soaked-stem-to-stern-in-cold-water, while I'm bundled up in a thick raincoat, fearing the elements. Queen Anne is one of two neighborhoods in Seattle where Zach and I have encountered homophobic statements tossed our direction (the other being an incident in the University District a few years ago); they weren't comments that made us fear for our safety. But, this incident merely reinforced my ultimate hypothesis: Queen Anne is one nutty neighborhood.
And, therefore, it's a neighborhood I've become quite fond of. While much of Seattle, I feel, is slowly moving towards a far-left culture of conformist compliance and acquiescence of originality and individualism, here's Queen Anne, apparently bucking the trend. Jaywalkers, homophobics, and dangerous drivers all welcome at the top of this steep hill. Besides, Queen Anne is also home to that crown jewel of all Seattle traffic jewels: the seven-way intersection! Individual oddities are all accepted here! Since this realization, I've slowly tried to convince Zach that, should we ever need to move (we are both currently pleased with our apartment now, though), we should surely consider Queen Anne.
Thus, this morning, I ventured to Queen Anne because, being a bit stressed about my upcoming exam, I sought an environment where, I felt, the occasional wiggling of socked feet or the picking of eyebrows would be welcomed or, at least, tolerated. I therefore found myself, early this morning, hunkered over a developmental biology textbook at the Queen Anne Tully's, reading about gastrulation while casually rapping my fingers on the tabletop.
Unfortunately, my brilliant scheme backfired: I failed to account for the welcome oddities of others.
He waltzed in about two hours after me and sought a seat at the same large table I, and other patron, had planted ourselves. His facial hair was a poor homage to Adolf Hitler, though he apparently opted for faded fannel rather than the military uniform of the Greater German Reich. He had a large drip coffee in a travel mug, but also several plastic bags and a backpack which he unloaded on the floor next to me. He then proceeded to unpack his feast from his backpack: a jar of peanuts, a bottle of pills labeled "Vitamin E", a bruised banana, a day-old piece of chocolate pie (the plastic container, from a deli, was dated), a second coffee cup, and a bottle of eggnog. I attempted to turn my attention back to embryonic gasturlation, my eyebrows, and the Tchaikovsky symphony to which I'd been listening, but I could help but notice this man mixing peanuts, Vitamin E pills (in addition to several other pills which obviously weren't Vitamin E), eggnog, and coffee together in his spare cup. I'm not sure how he "downed" the peanuts and pills (since I never heard or saw him chew), but he kept added more to the cup. The smell of the day-old chocolate pie combined with eggnog finally got me, after three hours, to quietly vacate the coffee shop. I'd finished reading anyway, and the other guy at the table had been giving me disgusted looks after he noticed me wiggling a socked foot for a few seconds.
I'll be spending this afternoon at the original pub where the girl had a make-believe mobile phone conversation about how "disgusting" it is to cross one's legs in a pub. I'll be spending my afternoon there because I've come to a sad conclusion about my self and my prospects on this planet: my tolerance of others apparently has its limits... and that limit includes Hitler lookalikes and eggnog.
Posted by James at November 12, 2006 01:56 PM