The "good ole days" scare me.

I left the house because a change of venue could frankly only make me more productive -- our cold apartment is only good for wrapping up on the couch or bed and watching telesision. I decided to try a new coffeeshop not too far from the house, wanting to avoid Lakeview or Wicker Park or any neighborhood that might be unbearable on a weekend. But I walked in and there was a jazz combo playing and the majority (99%) of the cafe was 20something and 30something rockabilly white folks. The music ended about half an hour ago and the free "jive dancing lessons" began after pushing all the tables back.

The whole experience is straddling this line between being a nightmare and being fascinating. But remarkably enough, I'm getting some reading and writing done.