John Tang

Curator, Starbucks; Idea on Things

Posted in Sketchbook by Jt's Item Roster on June 3, 2010

The Curator

Of course my hair was in order, when the adolescent wondered what had gone with my hair. Every March the students of Ikol kindergarten schedule a trip to my museum. I was who toured them—that was after the marble fountain, the ascending stone steps, which I noticed chipped in a few places and gave it a blush of time; one the sides were hills and gardens of statues; and once you enter the portico there was timeless effort pushing against these sand walls, grain to the touch, I believed—all of which were worth mentioning because the grandeur was nonetheless an appendage to the museum’s design—be awed before stepping inside, while intenseness swells like a puss. Today’s theme was Jean, a Vietnamese painter but a New York native.


Starbucks in Suisun

I do not believe Starbucks has a good work-environment.  There is not a hint of quietude. Playing over the speakers is Love Train, then the people spoke loudly, as if competing for song and conversation—although all sound pretty fruitless from what I overheard or rather what is incoherent, including the customer and cashier conversing over coffee products, the couple on the side trying to select a house in Suisun, and the two students—over a pair of biology books—have discovered black eyeglass frames are universal or “can go with anything.” So my journal entry ends here.


Gestures in Things

There are gestures in things. I noticed, lifeless as they appear. But I do not believe in their innocence. More so, I see myself how I left them standing, lying down, hanging off the white desk. Almost floating my semi-rimmed eye glasses stood there leaning against my Bible. Oakley frames. Lenses and temples shaped for a sport-fit. With its thin temples and rims—only on the top half—the glasses sat on its back, with the lenses facing up, I knowing well they are highly prone to chip because of a lack of a metal ring. I currently work at an optometry, and I do not expect to bring work-habits home. Nevertheless, I do. I also realize, as I write now and take short breathes, removing my glasses, I use both hands—unlike the average customer who uses one hand, ruining the hinges on one side, causing the spring to break or the screw to loosen up. Work has subtly soaked into my lifestyle; I take my employment seriously as well.

There is so much worth gleaning in the gestures of Things.



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