Sunday, March 20, 2011

Grandview, Indeed

So, I’m a little discouraged.  I can’t find the phone number for Vassalboro, Maine’s Grandview CafĂ© on the internets.  I’m not surprised, though.  I’m sure the place has had much more than its share—or maybe right at its share—of harassing phone calls over the last couple of years.   But I don’t want to harass them, or at least I don’t feel that the call I want to make is all that harassing.  Harassment isn’t funny.  And funny is important to me.  Funny is on my mind all the time.  It’s often apart of my decision making process, and the phone call I want to make is funny.
                But first, let me tell you about the Grandview.  It’s a topless coffee shop in Vassalboro, and when I recently changed routes to cut some time and distance off my daily 90 minute/90 mile commute to work, I started driving by the Grandview every day. 
                And no, I don’t want to stop by for a cup of joe, a bagel, and an ogle.  That’s not all that funny to me.  Although, I must admit, I did entertain the idea of going in, pulling off my shirt and sweater vest, and ordering a low-fat caramel macchiato, but that’s not my style.  Although in the interest of full disclosure, during my much younger days, I could have very easily been talked into doing it, perhaps after a few beers.
                Indeed, I once stripped for money, more or less.  No, I wasn’t a down on my luck, single dad with no other options to feed my babies.  I was stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas, and I was in a nearby bar with some of my friends on the night of some silly hot/beautiful/wicked awesome body contest.  Oh, and I did not see this as an opportunity to show off my “wares.”  My army buddies, Paul Yates and Rene Rios, put me up to it.  “Teddy, you’ve GOT to do this!”  Who could disappoint his buddies with such pleas?  Not me, I tell you.  Not me.
                So, there I was, a fit young soldier in the best shape of my life, other times of my life when I’ve probably been in better shape notwithstanding, my buddies behind me 100 percent, and I had just recently met the lady judges at a party.  So yep, I stripped and pranced around in nothing but a pair of plaid boxers and my masculine glory.  And yes, I won.  Was it fixed? Yes, knowing the judges did help.  I’m not proud of that, but I’m pretty sure that the scrawny, spandex-clad other guy in the contest did not stand a chance against my young, burgeoning manly glory. 
                Overall, I’m a bit uncomfortable and ashamed with my moment of public near nekkidness.  But it was funny at the time, and I didn’t mind the 40 bucks that I turned into rounds of drinks.  I’m much more of an absurdist now, and nekkidness is something I prefer to share only with someone special.
                Oh, and I’m not going to moralize about nekkid lady establishments—indeed, I guess there’s a shirtless dude who works at the Grandview.  As well, in my early 20’s as a young regular army soldier, I did patronize such establishments.  Hell, in my first year at Fort Riley leading up to my 21st birthday, I frequented bars in nearby Junction City that featured dancers.   I feel that I must qualify this by saying that virtually none of the bars in JC carded me, and virtually all of them featured dancers at least one night a week.  What was I supposed to do?  Not drink in bars?  I now prefer to drink in quieter places, in all my clothes, with fully-clad people around me.  Such a fuddy-duddy, I’ve become.
                Besides, as a friend once said of nekkid lady establishments, “They get all this lead in your pencil and don’t give you nothin’ to write on.”  And you can’t write on your hand.  My mom always said not to. . . Is that what she meant?
But as a fan of coffee, I prefer to drink my java in similarly quieter, clothesful surroundings, too, though when the Grandview opened, I thought the discussions at work were pretty funny.   People joked about stopping by for their morning cup on the way to work.  Some wondered if there was a drive-thru window.  A nearby restaurant posted on their marquee that though they did not have topless waitresses, they did a have a bottomless cup of coffee. 
And what of the coffee at the Grandview?  None of Roadside America’s tips even mention the coffee.  Isn’t that supposed to be part of the allure of a coffee shop?  Is the Grandview all stuff and no substance?
                Whatever quality the coffee may or may not have, it could not help avert a near disaster.  For a few short months after opening, the Grandview was burnt down, bringing little Vassalboro to the regional and national news.  It also brought one question to every local’s mind. . .
                Could it be?
                Yes?
                Say it isn’t so!
                It’s so.
                No.
                Yes, it was arson.
                Even before the local newscasts could get to the “fire marshal suspects arson” part of the story, we all knew it was arson.  Naturally, or rather unnaturally, it was.  Could it have been anything else?
                I mean, electric eels didn’t find their way up the Kennebec River and into the China Lakes Region to overload the circuits at the Grandview.  Lightning didn’t strike the Grandview.  Hell, Ricky Raccoon wasn’t playing with matches outside the Grandview.
                Nope, somebody started this fire.
                But who?  Was it a disgruntled, not—ahem—fully “qualified” topless barista?  No.  Was it a pissed-off conservative local, offended by the baring of chests in anything other than a boudoir, bathroom, or presumably, a doctor’s office?  No.  Was it the owner, trying to cash in on the insurance?  Hardly.
                As it turns out Donald Crabtree, the proprietor, had no insurance on the place.  Yes, you read correctly:  no insurance.  And the investigation showed that one of the shirtless baristas had a boyfriend with a criminal history who was, shall we say, not impressed with her employment at the Grandview, or more accurately, not impressed with her reported affair with Crabtree.   Check out this article and get a load of the picture of Crabtree’s arch nemesis. 
                Now, this leads me to one of the problems I have with the Grandview.  It’s not my current frustration, and no, it’s not that I think Crabtree was nuts simply for even allowing for a suspicion that he was sleeping with this guy's girlfriend.  But it’s an issue I have with the owner as a businessman.  Anyone who’s ever watched Law & Order knows that the shirtless employees of any establishment that features, well, shirtlessness, are significantly more likely to be involved in things like drugs and with people who are scofflaws and who just might consider doing something at such a shirtless establishment.  Something like start a fracas; maybe something like get drunk, uh, wired, and cause an ugly scene; or perhaps, something like burn the fucking place down.
                This is the world we live in, and Mr. Crabtree had no fire insurance.  None.  One would think that in a heavily regulated state like Maine, one couldn’t have a business without such insurance.  But in a victory for liberty, a person, a Mainer, a man such as one Donald Crabtree can run such a business with no fire insurance.  Indeed, a Maine man can run such an uninsured venture, but at his own peril.
                So, a couple hundred thousand dollars in the hole, Crabtree is reopening the Grandview, or at least it seems that way.  The “open” sign has been lit up.  I think.  I don’t pay that close attention to much on my way home from work—sometimes not even the correct turns.  Although, I have noticed the big “LIVE GIRLS” marquee in front of what appears to be a contractor’s trailer.  So many questions.  Is it a contractor’s trailer or was that the temporary home of the Grandview during the reconstruction?  (Apparently, as my “research” has shown, it’s the temporary Grandview.)  Who did do the work on the reconstruction, anyway?  Live girls?  What about the dude who works there?  Did something happen to him in the fire?  Do I really give two poops about any of these questions?
                No.
                I just wanted to write something funny, and I was inspired by a simple topless coffee shop that I pass on my way to work each day, arguably the most inspirational topless coffee house in the history of the world.  Going in and pulling off my shirt and sweater vest would have been funny, and I do have a history of varying states of public undress.  It’s just not my style now.
                What would have been funny, had I the number, would be to call the Grandview and ask if they have free wifi.  Then in a disappointed tone, I’d just sigh and say, “Oh well, I guess I’ll just go to Tim Horton’s.”  I wanted to use TedBlog to encourage everyone to call and ask about wifi.  My goal was to place enough public pressure on the Grandview to offer it.
                It would be painfully hilarious to me to drive by everyday and read, “The Grandview, Topless, Coffee Shop, Free Wifi.”
                I’ll let you know if I get the number.  Maybe we can get an open mic night started, too.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

I'm Ted. This is my blog.

I'm Ted.  This is my blog.  I'm going to be blogging here about random bullshit.