Stars & Baristas

Kevin Drum is right: the "Stars & Bucks" signage in Brian Ulrich's photo from Ramallah is something.

Which brings to mind Megan Stack's LAT piece: a female correspondent's perspective on life under "the world's most stringent public moral code" in Saudi Arabia. She writes that Western franchises like Starbucks abide by the prevailing code governing the appearance and behavior of women. There's a sensible, colonial prescription for change in there: If Saudis want their frappuccinos, they should be asked to wait in a single co-ed line, just like everyone else in the world does. The draw of the Colonel's 13 original herbs and spices might be the only force in the neighborhood powerful enough to shake society free from the deeply ingrained, but generally disfavored, grip of old tradition. Say what you will about crass consumerism, but it can be an excellent vehicle for transmitting and incentivizing some very base standards for sexual equality. (And transfats. Delicious, delicious transfats.)

In the absence of any domestic pressure, of course, these corporations are under no obligation to take on any business risk abroad. So stop buying Starbucks, already, and ask them to pair their generally broad and generous benefits for employees at home with principled community standards abroad.

This call-to-arms probably deserves a disclaimer. I'll explain. So, I've always taken real satisfaction from idle, manual labor, from helping people move (seriously!) to pushing a broom around (of course, this doesn't apply to my own home). No, really, I'm not kidding. I need something to get me away from the computer and criticism. When a couple of friends—one who works as a Senate staffer on the Hill, another who just finished law school—took up some shifts at the 9:30 working the kitchen, I felt a little bit jealous. As it happened, the timing worked out just right for me to moonlight with the working ranks: I met a nice couple from San Francisco who were opening a great coffee bar about a mile east of my house; I bought a bike (a spunky hybrid named Topanga!); and summer arrived, and with it, a lull in the galleries.

So, to break up the day, I'm working a couple shifts a week, really just a few hours, at the Big Bear Cafe, which is fantastic and won't ask you to stand in line according to your sex and doesn't even have any Riyadh branches for you to worry about. I'm already miserable about a couple of early mornings I have scheduled, but otherwise I get to load up my iPod and wipe down counters and indulge for free my considerable caffeine addiction. Structured work in a nice, clean neighborhood spot. So stop by already! BBC @ R and 1st NW.

(This is your thread for jokes about how, 10 years after enrolling in college, I'm still serving you coffee.)