Plug Me In

I don't demand much. I'm not someone who needs a lot to be happy (thank God, because I don't have much). Anyway, I'm really bugged that so many coffee joints and bookstores offer me internet access but no electrical plugs.

Who's the genius that decided to offer laptop users a place to work, drink overpriced coffee, read overpriced books, yet not provide them a place to plug in?

I visited a Border's Bookstore yesterday that had two plugs in the entire sitting area of their cozy cafe. Nice chairs, tables, coffee, thousands of books, two plugs. This particular store's cafe was in the back, with tables and chairs arranged neatly to the side and back right. A small nook hidden in the far corner looked promising. As I looked for a place to sit among the many tables in the open area just in front of the coffee bar, laptop upon shoulder, I could find no plugs. Finally, in th back corner nook I found two plugs available, one behind an end table and one behind a chair.

Many Starbuck's Coffee shops are also plugless. One of my favorite places to write, read, and netbrowse is Starbucks. I have unlimited net access at all Starbucks (and Border's locations), so I'm either drinking coffee or reading a book, sometimes both, almost every day at their stores. Why are plugs so hard to come by?

I visited a Starbucks this morning that had two plugs. Nice chairs, plenty of tables, expensive coffee, two plugs. Two table lamps were plugged into one of the outlets forcing me to unplug them to use my laptop and printer. So now I'm in the dark. Starbucks, you can certainly do better.

I know what you're thinking: they don't want to pay a high electric bill. More plugs equals more users equals higher bill. Border's Bookstores and Starbucks Coffee shops make a huge profit by charging a small fortune for a cup of coffee and can afford a few cents of electricity. They offer internet access for a fee, which I gladly pay. I'm only suggesting they also offer enough plugs so we can actually get some work done.

Oops, my battery is just about dead. I've got to go.

"Finger of the Week": August 20, 2007

Irene Hull, a Democratic supporter from Seattle, was keeping her fingers crossed on election day last year hoping to see the U.S. Senate and U.S. House come under Democratic control. With the Democratic party recently coming under attack for ineffective leadership after taking over Congress, I wonder if Ms. Hull's fingers are still crossed.

A recent Zogby poll (mid-July) gives the Democrat-controlled Congress a 15% approval rating. President Bush shouldn't smile too broadly, however, because his approval rating dropped another point to just 32%.

The Thackerville Truck Stop

The Thackerville Truck Stop is like one of those places everyone has visited while traveling, a gas station and restaurant hybrid with a parking lot the size of a football field. Welcome to America's oasis for the truck driver.

A gas station on steroids. That's the best way to describe these places. The Thackerville Truck Stop is located near the Winstar Casino, just across the Red River in southern Oklahoma. You can throw a beer can into Texas from the parking lot. The interstate highway system provides the TTS with plenty of business, and gamblers who have lost their house payment in the Winstar poker room need a place to buy an aspirin. A gaming station is even located on the far side of the property--kind of a casino-light--a white shack facility offering slot machines. I guess they figure the Winstar's hundreds of slots aren't enough to keep the senior citizens on the tour bus happy. Why not offer them a slot while their driver pumps gas?

I became familiar with the Thackerville Truck Stop because I needed a shower. What better place to practice healthy hygiene than a truck stop? I knew they had a shower. A truck stop must have a shower. Truck drivers need to clean themselves.

As I entered the bath area looking for the shower, one trucker was washing his grease-stained arms in the sink.

"I just cleaned out that old air filter. What a mess!" He was probably about to turn 60-years-old and I was thankful he was just washing his arms.

Whoever designs these facilities must have a sense of humor. The cafe area always has canary-yellow table tops. The display area containing the snack racks is never easy to navigate. At the Thackerville Truck Stop the display racks and cases are set up like a rat's maze, blocking the way as you attempt to find the restrooms. Some New York marketing wizard who designs America's truck stops has decided to forget the maxim that a straight line is the shortest route from point A to point B. "Let's see if we can force people to stumble over the powdered donuts on the way to the bathroom so we can increase our market share."

I'm thinking to myself, "If I go right, I must run past the soft drinks and beer, but then have to turn upstream past the Honey Bun rack. I then must hang a sharp left by the chips until I reach the back wall. By nightfall I need to find the bathroom."

Man verses Wild, an episode on the Discovery Channel, featuring a southern Oklahoma truck stop.

I have fond memories of truck stops. Growing up in Texas you know about such places. When traveling with the family, we always found a reason to stop and visit. Sure, we needed gas. But we also enjoyed looking at the truck stop gift offerings. Need a hat with a truck on it? How about a t-shirt with the phrase "Will swap wife for beer."? I also remember the truck stop having an enormous selection of clever gadgets for your car or truck. Although I have never used fuzzy felted dice, and don't know why you would hang them from your rear view mirror, they have them. Want to place your coffee cup on the head rest of your passenger-side car seat? No problem. You might also want to hide your car key in one of those magnetic black box gizmos, just in case you lose the car keys while playing the slot machines.

The sun has finally come out this morning. The rains have subsided for the time being. Starbucks is quiet, with a few onlookers at the food counter wondering what salad or overpriced sandwich they'll eat for lunch. I'm still trying to figure out the Starbucks appeal. It's a branding iron. The cattle must have their Guatemala Antigua blend.

I have an uneaten banana staring at me as if to say, "What are you waiting for? I'm here." My routine the past few weeks has been to visit the local grocery store for a banana and yogurt. Then I settle down at Starbucks for a few hours of reading, writing, and googling online. My banana knows I'll eventually get to her, but she's impatient. The yogurt has already served its purpose. Life does have its small pleasures.

I've been on CraigsList looking for writing jobs in the Las Vegas area. I found only one descent lead. Most of the posts are junk ads for web sites seeking content. For the most part I think it's waste of time. However, in the real estate area I have made contact with a few Las Vegas agents and local investors.

I finished the book Grant and Sherman by Charles Bracelen Flood. I was emotionally moved by the description of the two-day parade that celebrated the end of the war, the armies of the east and west, the coming together of Grant and Sherman at the reviewing stand. What a scene it must have been. Five weeks after Lincoln was assassinated, the parade was a celebration with 80,000 soldiers marching before a crowd that cheered, roared and cried for a group of men who saved the nation. I wish I had been there.

I love reading about the Civil War, the stories of men and their relationships with each other. I read earlier this month, for example, about Grant moving on Fort Donelson. The fort was deserted by most of the generals and many of the soldiers, leaving in command an old acquaintance of Grant, a fellow named Simon Bolivar Buckner. Buckner loaned Grant some money years before when Grant was penniless, getting off a boat in Manhattan. Now Buckner finds himself surrendering to "Unconditional Surrender" Grant at the fort after a couple of days of fighting in the rain and swamps of the Tennessee River. Grant walked with Buckner down to the dock to see him off, as Buckner was being sent back to Cairo as a prisoner of war. Grant pulled him aside and said, "…you are seperated from your people…perhaps you need some funds...my purse is at your disposal."

I also read the story of Voltaire P. Twombley, a soldier involved in the fight to capture the fort. Three flag bearers had fallen to musket rounds, and Twombley was not afraid to become the fourth. He hoisted the flag and ran along the side of his commander, Brigadier General Charles F. Smith, to take the slopes of the fort. A musket ball hit Twombley hard enough to knock him down, but being that it was shot from a far distance, it did no critical damage. Twombley won the Congressional Medal of Honor for his role in the battle. That name is a strange one, though.