Cool Beans. The Starbucks Monologues
By Daniel W. (Kana) Shephard
Did you know that “a laugh (ha, ha, ha) is the wisest, easiest answer to all that’s queer?” So, says Stubbs in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. I don’t know but “queer” and “dick” in the same context makes me take a second look.
Why Melville for this column? Because purportedly it is from Chapter 36 of Moby Dick from where the coffee company “Starbucks” gets it name. I remember reading the book when I was younger because something in Disney’s Pinocchio stirred in me to know more. The contemporary Moby Dick is the whale hunting the hunter; you see it in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, any of the Free Willy movies (one sequel, but two? How is that possible?). I digress; let’s get on examining – ironically so – the “very phallic” or Moby Dick.
So, a whale purportedly bites off a whaler’s leg after that hunter comes after the whale not once, not twice, but eight times. Hmm. The whaler decides that instead of say, hunting down a whale for profit and to feed his family, he wants vengeance because that whale is the very evil of the world; he is quite mad, you see, ivory stump and all. A paradox. He asks his crew if they will join him in his hunt for the whale that left him with the very ivory stump that tapped upon the deck. All save one reply yes, we are with you, Captain. All save, the first mate that grudgingly agrees not for the sake of the captain’s vengeance, but for the profit. The captain’s name? Ahab. The first mate? Starbuck.
So, in 1971, you might wonder why name a company after a first mate whose main interest in the bottom line and the captain’s chair? Did they foresee that they would sit in the captain’s chair, a corporation based on a small hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in Pike’s Place Market to thousands of locations worldwide? I wonder though it was just a “cool” name or did the culture of the time inspire it so?
1971. A pivotal year with many goings on. Alan Shepard hits a golf ball on the moon while DB Cooper becomes one of the Northwest most famous crime mysteries. NPR goes on the air with “All Things Considered.” The Kennedy Center opens. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, A Clockwork Orange, and Harold and Maude appear on the big screen, while on the music scene greets John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” Don McLean’s “American Pie,” and John Lennon’s “Imagine.” Bill Wilson, founder of Alcoholics Anonymous dies as well as theologist Rheinhold Niebuhr whose “Serenity Prayer” becomes widely used by that organization. The voting age becomes 18, Washington State becomes the first state to ban sex discrimination, and federal law says you can’t hunt animals from an airplane. AT&T Bell Labs conducted its first cellular phone test in Chicago, the “@” appeared in the first email message sent machine to machine, and the first laser printer was made at XEROX. Lest we not forget, fashion takes a hit as Gabrielle “CoCo” Chanel and JC Penney die and then a boom when Ralph Lauren sets up his first Polo shop on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.
Still, one begs the question, why Starbuck? There is a pretty interesting booknote at http://pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmMobyDick31.asp that talks about the incident. An analysis follows including a descriptor of the crew of the whaling ship as sort of a model for contemporary melting pots, but still. Why Starbuck?
Is it any better or worse because it defines the American Dream – striking it big and successful because you offer the unique and the popular? Is Starbucks “Walmarting” coffee shops, small moms and pops, or is simply expanding upon opportunities given to them by their consumers? Consumers determine whether a business makes it or not.
Is it a bad thing that I pay for expensive coffee? Is it a bad thing that I like hanging out at Starbucks? Is there anything they have done to me, my family, that makes them bad? The answer is no. Big, bad wolf eats the whale; yeah, right. I’m not so naïve to realize that business practices, good and bad, exist in the Fortune 500. But good practice more than not and contributions to community, as well as a great cup of coffee go a long way for me. Starbucks, crazy name and all, provides that.
35 years ago (oh, god, Starbucks is younger than me!) a couple folks had an idea. That idea grew, as did their pockets. That idea put the Northwest on the map as the US coffeehouse capitol. Someone once told me that they thought that Starbucks might be like “Coke” someday; defining a product by a brand name instead of by the product. Perhaps. Will Starbuck outwit its Captain Ahab and pull in the whale, or will they both die trying? Who knows, but one thing we do, given its success over 35 years, the coffee company is on its way to notoriety. Like that joke of what survives a nuclear war – cockroaches, Taco Bells, Cher … and yes, Starbucks.
Cool beans.
Read It. Write It Up. Book Critiques.
By Daniel W. (Kana) Shephard
Who inspires you to read? My father has been a pivotal part in growing my own literary sense. When I was an adolescent, he introduced me to Clive Cussler. A few years back he suggested I read a JD Robb book. At other times he would point to a book to emphasize a talking point. When we, as kids, didn’t know a word or its meaning, he’d tell us to go look it up and come back and talk to him about it; still as adults he tries that technique. We’d go off in a grumble but still end up looking it up in the dictionary and explode with wonder as to the varied meanings.
Going through and consolidating years of family history as we clean out garages and storage units, you get the opportunity to see what inspired him to read. Edgar Rice Burroughs. Ernest Thompson Seton. The World of Gor. Mysteries. Thrillers. Military. Sci-Fi. My father gorges on the written word, local knowledge that he has passed to all his children.
I’ve spent much time with my dad of late and one night recently he asked me to read the forward of a book he was reading. I was, like, oh no, no more statistics, dad, I can’t handle knowing anything else about statistics, I hate statistics – let it go, dad. I’m a social scientist who does qualitative research, let the statistics go. I read the intro and was blown away. My father understood me and took the time to let me know that. A review of the book follows.
Hot Target by Suzanne Brockman (2004)
Wow! Can I just say “wow!” It’s been a long time since I have read popular fiction that aligns so well with my own perspectives and lifestyle. Author Brockmann starts off with an in-depth dedication to her son, a young gay man coming into his own. After the incredible maternal testimony, I turned the pages and got hooked, completely and utterly. I finished this large popular fiction novel inside of three hours, not wanting to eat, not wanting to set it down, for it might go missing in the remodel. The book, is a pretty boilerplate novel with all the requisite ingredients, but it offers a balance one doesn’t see, too often, the crosspollination of mainstream and alternative press in the same sitting. It is well worth it to get a copy.
State of Fear by Michael Crichton (2004)
Take science as fact as we know it. Look to the flow of the oceans. Look to industry. Is global warming a myth used to make us take a step back and realize what we are doing to the planet? Fraught with controversy, suspense, and good twists and turns, Crichton’s latest offering is his typical template. Take what we know and twist it to an inevitable conclusion that makes you think outside of your Pandora’s box. Similar to other Crichton novels, it is well-written and very much worthy of the screenwriter’s pen to appear on the big screen. I’d suggest read it before it goes into the Hollywood machine.
The Motive by John Lescroart (2004)
You read this and want to visualize inept public service workers being let go. How many times is someone convicted based on circumstantial evidence or released on a technicality? Ack! The book was a little confusing at times because I was trying to figure out if the inept police officer was the bad guy, or if a supervising officer appointed by the mayor was not too good, or you know … in a thriller it’s good to not know the end before the end, but this one wrapped itself around itself over and over again. It was good and passionate with many characters and I had to hold on until the end, but gosh – one word to the author: editor? Aside from that, it’s well worth the read because, perhaps, I’m just a confused reader and it’s not confusing at all. 
Is the Potter a Prince or Simply a Man?
Book and Release Party Review by Daniel W. Kana Shephard
If you haven’t read the book, heard the hype, or know the tale, do not read further. Pique your interest? Then, read on.
In the last Harry Potter movie, a new actor takes the place of Dumbledore, delivering a lackluster performance; people didn’t like the new actor. So what sticks is the idea of Dumbledore; will he be the next part of Harry Potter’s family to meet an untimely end?
“Avada Kedavra.”
To some people it sounds like Abracadbra, the wonder of a wand waived on stage above the top hat as a bunny pops from its brim.
To Harry Potter fans it is the beginning of a new era, for it is the last words of magic in its truest form. It is the loss of friendship, the loss of trust, and the loss of innocence.
Magic, as woven through the Harry Potter books, is about the foundations and strength of friendship, of longing, of wanting to be better than what other people talk about. It is unusual relationship between dark guy Severus Snape and white wizard and headmaster Albus Dumbledore that causes pause with everyone including the impressionable young Harry.
This relationship is at the core of “Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince.” In a splash of green light spewed from his wand, Severus Snape, aka The Half Blood Prince, yells “avada kedavra” slamming his “friend” Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts and Harry’s mentor, into his chest. The man already weakened by potions and drama after drama is flung head over heels, crumpling into a deathly heap.
Friend. Magic. Loss. How can our hero survive without his mentor? How can he face what comes ahead as he continues to lose those close to him? He finds first love, puppy love, with Ginny Weasley, only to have to give it up to protect her. He tries to lose Ron and Hermoine, but they steadfastly support him, giving hope to magic and friendship in this dark chapter of the Rowling series.
So, these are two big pivotal moments in the book. If that’s not heartbreaking enough, Harry finds time for first love in the arms of his best friend’s sister, Ginny Weasley. They spend magical time together, but because of his warrior path, he has to let her go, for she, nor anyone close to him, will be safe until he rids the world of “he who shall not be named.”
Was the book worth the wait? It has a different flavor, that’s for sure. The voice is still there, but it has taken on a new feel. The book, like the characters, have grown; the magic is tempestuous and dangerous.
For it parallels the world today. In the pages we find the muggle and wizardry world joined as it combats disaster at the hands of evil. In the world, we find the most deadliest of terror in Great Britain happening a short distance away Charing Cross, a train station both in the real world and the starting point of many a students at Hogwarts from platform 9 ¾.
Still, despite this terrible moment in the Old World, the newest Harry Potter book has become quite highly sought text, with fans clamoring like so many Rolling Stone ticket seekers. At midnight on July 16, the boxes opened and the books began to fly off the shelves. “It’s just a bookstore,” cried these twenty-something freshly buzzed from Lakefair as they tried to get through the mass of people waiting outside to get into the release party of “Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince” at Orca Books in downtown Olympia. Those same people would be surprised by the count of many of their counterparts who pushed ahead of teenagers, adolescents and older adults to get their hands on the coveted manuscript. In retrospect, the people-watching aspect of this Orca party made up for, this reviewer, at least, the enigmatic performance and secrets revealed in the book.
The folks at Orca were dressed to the nines with Hogwarts’ gear, refreshments and educational activities at the ready, and a massive crowd beating down the door. While Lakefair raged on outside, this tiny bookstore in the heart of the state’s capitol, had the ardor and energy of a Quiddich match between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
For me, the best part of the evening was knowing that even in the midst of hundreds of children and their parents, that guys like me, who believe in magic would show up to the party. There were six men who are most assuredly part of Judy’s Church, six men who I never met before, but there they were. The capes were exquisite, all Hollywood glamour, sewn into each detail, the leathers all beautiful For it was in this moment, that I felt, wow, I’m not so unusual, a gay adult man fascinated by the Harry Potter series.
There are many men out there who were ostracized as kids, so we found solace in books, in fantasy, in the reality of our minds. It was in these places where we could exist without fear or persecution. It was in these places where we developed our creativity, our longing for logic, and the want for peace in our hearts. Books saved us. Some people were pretty, some popular, some too smart for their own good. For bookworms, it was books much like this laid the foundation of our lives. For we identify with Harry Potter. (What you thought we identified with Miss Hermoine or the homoerotist in his friend, Ron? Uh, no.) He is alone. He must come to terms with himself and the path he must take. He chooses his friends, his family. He learns about heartache. He grows into a young man. He is the epitome of many of us. The irony of the evening is that kids know the deal. A kid with Potter specs walks by, a cupcake in one hand, a drink cup in the other. He sips and whispers to his friend, “I like ButterBrew, it tastes just like Pepsi.” Despite an era for us where terror exists next to magic, we find comfort in the voice of a child, in the hope of those that believe in friendship, and yes, magic, darkness or no.
Identities Revealed: Head, Heart, Voice
by Daniel W. (Kana) Shephard
This monthly column will feature issue analysis from three perspectives: a review (the head), reflection (heart), and reaction (voice). This will not be a Disneyesque meandering towards an inevitable happy ending, but a way to illuminate issues of identity.
“Stop and Smell the Sweet Peas”
I like cologne; at times, though, I need something more than artificial flavors and pheromone-enhanced tools of the trade. I need to breathe in without getting a headache. Yes, chemical sensitivity hits even for the gay guy who likes his sprays. I set the bottle down and think, what is my favorite scent?
It comes to mind today as a beautiful young man stopped by my office and delivered a scintillating bouquet of sweet peas accompanied by a brilliant smile. I was in the midst of workplace frenzy when he appeared and left with that quiet ease and contemplative grace I’d come to expect in him. You ask, who is this young man and why did he bring me flowers?
Believe me, I asked that question myself only after I wrestled with the “super califragalistic expialadocious” kind of feeling; unexpected, delightful, and simply put, organic. He works for the organic farm at Evergreen. It’s a mysterious place for non-agricultural types. I don’t consider myself a farmer, just a guy with a little green thumb (let’s not talk about the calendula I killed in my office after one week, though … ack!) as a hobby.
I had sauntered down to the farm one day to get some flowers to appreciate a colleague. It was a sunny day, and he had some time to do some work in the fields by himself; he was very meticulous in his task as if the dirt was some ancient species that needed his protection and the plant a delicate child in its embrace … that kind of hoeing. It was fascinating to watch such care in a task. I felt awkward interrupting and then, he looked up at me and smiled that smile.
We talked about flowers and he suggested sweet peas. I thought, great, sweet peas, a little no-nothing plant kinda like a weed; what don’t they have roses or lilies or something more spectacular? Why yes, he said, we do, but let’s try a sweet pea. He led me into one of the greenhouses and described to me the plants and we came upon a very vine-filled trellis be speckled with blooms. He plucked one and asked me to smell it. I closed my eyes and was literally transported to a place of longing for more. Sweet peas, yes, they were just the ticket.
Organic sweet peas grown at Evergreen make me smile with every whiff. Their fragrance is so rich that I can breathe them in without getting that floral headache we have to suffer for with beauty. They are a delight. I can see why the 18th century poet Keats so named them.
“Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight:
With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.”
-- from I Stood Tip-Toe Upon a Little Hill
They captured my attention as did he. Who was this man and why did he give so much care to the land, to his task, to people? He is very much like the plants in his care. He is a quiet man with a very mannered bearing, almost British. I can’t guess and my read on people has changed over time.
Take the sweet pea; it’s more than some bloom on a vine. Though not indigenous to Britain (where many people think it got its start), this bloom is thought to have originated in what was known as Ceylon (a colonization term for what is Sri Lanka) and carried over wind to Sicily and southern Italy. From there, a monk sent seeds to British academics who cultivated varieties and now this wispy fragrant flower is one of the most popular in the world. This bloom is evocative of a rich, cultural heritage and all of that came to being when this young man asked me to take a whiff.
It’s meaning came clear in that moment. From the language of flowers, the meaning of sweet pea is “blissful pleasure” or “thank you for the lovely time” or bittersweet “goodbye.” Its use is something besides simple beauty and enjoyment; it holds a key element in the process known as nitrogen fixation, essential for plant growth and for the greater implementation in industrial chemical production. It is poisonous to eat which begs the question why would someone try? Sweet peas are so much more than a wispy little flower, or the weed I once thought them to be.
So, I live in the moment, and make observations based on experiences; sweet peas were this flower, this thing. I sit and look at the ones on my desk, close my eyes and breathe. Aah. Sigh. So, where do I go from here? I cannot make the assumption of this man’s identity (is he gay, is he straight, is he a he, is he partnered, am I stepping on toes, is there something there?) yet like the sweet pea, I am in a state of longing. When I see him, I smile. I want to hang out with him, even if we do not speak. He has good energy and a compassionate soul. He works with his hands, is creative, and knows the value of respecting life. Was it simply one of those spectacular moments, an embrace of life in a snapshot, a one-time gift of “blissful pleasure”? Or is there something to cultivate?
What bloom comes to mind when you have experiences that inspire you? When you want to know more? When the doldrums of your everyday life is held up for just a moment in time when you can take a whiff of life, hold it, and sigh? Like the sweet pea, know this. Things aren’t always as they appear. Take things moment by moment and see what cultivates; you will know when you grow.
A long-time print journalist, Daniel W. (Kana) Shephard has made the transition to ethnographer who works and teaches part-time at The Evergreen State College.