James Taylor is wailing over his guitar. The steam is whooshing through the nozzle to warm the milk. The heads around me are leaning forward to read books and newspapers or to focus on laptops.
The pre-nine a.m. crowd is now gone, and Rooster is quiet. A woman I do not know is now singing over her guitar. She has a Joan Baez way of ending her notes.
There seems to be a feeling of natural, thoughtful calm here: The old large table at the back where several people type away on their computers – The dark wood floor and the tan brick wall at the far end – The two rows of facing soft chairs separated by a low table near the front.
Then, I look up and see old suitcases calculatingly piled by the hands of a designer on top of the cooler, with a child’s lettered wood blocks in front spelling ROOSTER. I notice that table surfaces are covered with books or old games, calculatingly selected. Nineteenth century portrait photographs have been put on the walls, which suggest that the designer may have lost the awareness of authenticity leaving only the capacity for calculation and irony. The basics are good. Why these extras? I look over to the work area where the excellent lattes are made. No not that!.
I wish, I desperately wish, that the designer had not put two large crystal chandeliers above the counter. This idea of adding incongruity-by-chandelier lost its originality about six months after it was first seen years ago. Those who still use this technique should be lined up in a row and talked sense to by cleared eyed lesbians.
Other than the used books splashed around and the basic fit of the floors and the walls, what do these extras have to do with the casual-with-style, self-consciously intellectual crowd that inhabits this space? I know that ironic treatments of the past are part of our life at the moment. Why do these ones, here, seem to jar? Am I just having a bad day?
As I type, others come and take without asking parts of my newspapers. I like to share but I usually expect in Toronto to be asked. Perhaps I have joined a commune or perhaps there is another explanation. I comment to one man who is taking a section that the newspaper is mine, that I’m happy to share, but that I would like it back as I have not yet read the section he wants. He looks at me sceptically and suggests that it is really the café’s newspaper and that I am trying to keep it for myself.
I close my eyes, sip the excellent latte and take a nibble of a decent baked good. My eyes gradually open again, and I focus on a man in a facing soft chair.
He has been sitting knees apart reading intently since I came in an hour ago. He has a close cropped black beard and wears a black baseball hat with a white design. An attractive young woman dressed in Riverdale casual-with-style sits down opposite him. I notice he does not close his knees despite his tight jeans. She picks up her book and appears to read, though she peaks over at him frequently. He still does not close his knees but rather lowers his arm to cover the slight fat roll around his stomach.
I wonder what each of us would want to disguise if we sensed someone attractive was watching us. Perhaps, this young woman finds the roll appealing, and it is only the man who believes it is not. A sexually active friend of mine says that men with extra mass are often better sexual partners than the fit, slim-waisted men that are the popular model at present.
The young woman continues to look at the open knees guy. He now tugs at his tight black top to pull it away from his stomach. He does not understand that the attractive woman does not care about his girth.
As for me, I want to know what he has been reading so intently for an hour with the serious, almost stolid, look on his face. I want to know what he does in the morning when he gets up alone. I want to know who his friends are. I want to know whether his face would soften if he sat on a dock looking across to a tree-covered shore in the late summer sun. I want to know what woman would make him smile warmly and forget the consciousness of his belly.
Rooster is now more crowded as it approaches 11 in the morning. There are more women, and the pitch of the voices is higher and the volume louder. The sound of the music is now lost, and the owner has the sense not to increase its volume, as this would just cause everyone to talk even more loudly.
It’s a chatty weekday Riverdale crowd. Is their apparent casualness as calculating as the design of this place? As is often with any group, the answer is likely only a few have calculated their appearance to fit in.
***
The latte is excellent. There is a selection of decent baked goods. The view across the Don valley to downtown Toronto is remarkable. If you do not mind the tendency to calculation-in-place-of-authenticity of the designer, you would be happy to go out of your way to come here.
