the Jet Fuel Café

4 Apr

2017 April 4th at the Jet Fuel Café

The Jet Fuel Café

It’s dreary, drizzling, cool, in front of me, on the street.
I come here to try to catch a thread from the whirlwind in my mind, before going to box, which usually calms me.
Some of the 4:30 pm ‘usuals’ are here, as the frequently they are; several of them have been coming to this coffee shop for years
My brother and I rode here at 11:30 pm on Saturday night; the date is notable, April 1st, because it is the date of the annual Jet Fuel Party. This one was the 25th anniversary of this location, 519 Parliament.

Writing this blog entry, I recall that I was considering tentatively calling the title of my next book[i], “Jet Fuel Café“; but that’s another story.

I would also like to note that I will continue my elaboration on the destructive social symptom of narcissism, “Genocidal narcissism and the consumerist zombie hoards”, … soon(ishly).

 

Back to the party, late Saturday night …

Unfortunately the party continued a trend of the past few years, busy with people I don’t know, and have never seen at the café before, many of whom seemed to know each other quite well, and few regulars, fewer long time regulars, lurking, most in the back.

Apparently, last year, it was quite a bit tamer, with less of these people who have not been seen at the café before.  I didn’t end up going, since the trend had been picking up steam in the past few years; too bad.

Something that was different this year, was the advanced age of all of these ‘previously-not-been-to-the-café–before/very often’; they were my age, and, somewhat weirdly, older.  They moshed it up, seemingly carefree, inside at the back.  Whether they were carefree or not, they were getting free beer, according to the long standing tradition.  A tradition started to show a little love to the regulars, and give them a opportunity to let it all hang out, even more than usual.

An insider told me that Johnny was considering for this to be the last year of the annual April 1st public parties.

Back two decades ago, the café was frequented by a community of reckless adrenaline addicts, many of them bicycle couriers, at a time well before there were any ‘tourist’ bicycle couriers, coming in daily from the financially secure haven of their parents place in the suburbs, so that they didn’t really have to earn a living wage.  No these bicycle couriers were authentic rebels and misfits, for real; while certainly there was some posturing, many of these people lived just off the street, sometimes not off it.  These people made good customers with their eight to ten espresso per day habits, and infused the community of the patronage of the café with its seminal values, working hard, and partying even harder, with any and all ‘supplements’ in wreckless abandon.  It was a charged vibe, that frequency of frenzied engagement, and suffused with an implicit irreverence.

But like many of the respectful customs in our society, gamed avidly, by a dedicated gaming class.  You know the type, they always have good reasons to NOT show up for the work, or show up and manage to NOT work very much, but they are always there with their good reasons why they should get to participate in the rewards; so the people that actually DID the work, get less reward from it!

——————————————————

[i] First book, “Wayward” – “www.deancassady.com Amongst the Vicarious Selves”, as yet unpublished

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