Profile: Insomnia Cafe
By Ryan - Monday January 09th 2006 |
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1245am. Toss.
Turn.
Toss, turn, toss. Where the hell’s the cool spot on this pillow.
Christ. I’ve got insomnia again. This always happens. Time to walk to Insomnia and get a double shot. That should do the trick.
12:55am. Jacket on. Slip-flops donned.
1:10am. You walk in. Every single table is taken by a writer with a powerbook. Every single writer now looks up at you, silently judging you and determining in a fraction of a second your importance in the industry. This is a fine crowd’you do at 1am. You wave to the room. Heads dip back to LCD screens right and left. You make your way to the counter. Some skinny chick is serving up coffee. When the stereo isn’t quietly creaking out some tastefully-selected CD (Waits, Dylan et al…no Starbucks™ Ray Charles this is a very serious joint), the place is library-quiet. Pin drop quiet. Every single writer hovers over a laptop. Most are running Final Draft. A few writers watch DVDs with headphones. They are the rebels. As if on cue (ha), the writers sporadically stare solemnly at each other and whoever walks into the place. This is natural. Accept it. Maybe they aren’t looking at anything at all. Maybe they’re looking inward. Maybe you’re simply witnessing genius at work.
You quickly realize there are no available seats without crowding a writer. The writers continue to stare at you as you order coffee, looking for an available seat. Any seat. A section of floor. They keep staring. This makes it worse somehow. That corner by the window. They keep staring. This four inches of bar top in the corner – wait, that’s taken too. How long can you hover at the counter? It can’t last. The game continues. You grow uncomfortable.
1:17am. Your double shot combined with all of the staring has made you jittery. You make for an outside table with book in hand. Cel phones are not allowed inside. You are now in the cel phone/smoking zone. Four writers yap to their significant others / agents / friends about significant other / agent / friend things. Three of them are smoking, making the absolute most of the brief outdoor foray. You are hating life. It has made you very. Very tired. Very tired, this writing scene. Weary to your bones, caffeine be damned. You go straight home and sleep like a baby. The name fits, I said it.
Insomnia Cafe
7286 Beverly Blvd
(323) 931-4943
Questionably related, yet interesting link:
Caffeinated spiders make wacked-out webs. You have to wonder what it does to all those screenplays, scripts, treatments…
Messing with Insomnia
Ryan over at Losanjealous just wrote a spot on profile of Insomnia Cafe on Beverly. He writes: “You walk in. Every single table is taken by a writer with a powerbook. Every single writer now looks up at you, silently…
go to bed. thinking about spiders who drink lattes will only keep you awake, trust me.
What’s that theorem about a 100 monkeys and a 100 typewriters again?
Update “typewriters” to “laptops.” And change “works of Shakespeare” to “Wedding Crashers.”
you got it exactly. ugh, better than the chain alternatives though.
[...] (Beverly) (c) Groundworks (Any) (d) Peet’s For Life, Brah (Any) (e) Lost Souls (Downtown) (f) Insomnia (Beverly) (g) Urth (Any) (h) Stella (Silverlake) (i) Buzz (Beverly) (j) Koffea (Ktown) (k) Newsroom [...]
It’s “cell,” not “cel.”
Anyway, Insomnia closed. Go back to bed.