Java Hut (Yee Haw!) *

It's time to push the envelope, leverage core competencies, think outside the box...

Last night I talked my friend into a trip to Worcester to a local coffee house called The Java Hut Cafe. The evening's scheduled entertainment was the Jay Tyer Jazz Ensemble, and at least I know I like Jazz. Neither of us had ever been there before, so this was an off-the-cuff, no idea what we're getting into kind of jaunt, but in fact the scene we met was very much what I envisioned.

It turns out that Java Hut is on Webster Square, very close to Clark University, so it's primarily a college scene.

The number of sterotypes/cliches was just amazing. Thirty or forty years ago I'm sure a smoky haze (of uncertain origin) would have filled the room.

Of course here in 2006 it's a WiFi hotspot, so several students were sitting at tables with their laptops blazing away (it looked like one guy near us was intently studing art). Hey, why actually talk to your pal across the table when you can post something witty on their Myspace page?

One member of the laptop crowd fit right in with his black turtleneck, soul patch, and red streak dyed through the shock of black hair atop his head.

The long wall of the cafe (opposite the bar) was festooned with various paintings and other forms of the afore mentioned Art, most abstract but some leaning more toward impressionist. Presumably they were for sale but I didn't get close enough to see prices. My favorite of the bunch was the largest piece (something like 4 ft. by 5 ft.) which was entitled "Man devouring himself over the image of his woman". We agreed that we could see some figures in the painting (with effort), but he actually said there were three. Who knows? Probably not even the artist :)

The venue was socially conscious and quite eco-friendly. Collection jars from a number of worthwhile social service charities sat on the bar. One whiteboard proudly announced the availability of Chemical Free Decaf. The chili my friend got was vegetarian of course (actually their menu included plenty of meaty dishes for the unwashed carnivores among us). My friend blew our cover as 'professors of comparative studies' by trying to order a Coke, forcing our waitress/barista to explain that they don't carry mainstream soft drinks, but he could have a Stewart's. He opted for Snapple.

Speaking of our waitress, she was a delightful, competent blonde, handling even us older folk with good humor. Oh, I forgot to mention the dreadlocks sprouting from a knit tan wrap of sorts on top of her head.

Several signs behind the bar were enthusiastically hand-decorated. My favorite of these was for what must be a signature beverage, something like a "Psycho Jolt" (not really), made with 8 shots of espresso, and measuring "32 horrifying ounces" in total. The sign included an appropriate legal disclaimer.

The rear of the cafe sported two rest rooms, not labeled in anyway, inviting their use by patrons of either gender (seems very sensible to me). In between the two, a decrepit old cigarette machine acted as a display shelf for free local 'scene' papers. Actually, the whole machine was "repurposed" as a poetry vending machine, but I think it was really for show, since one area of the machine read "Not responsible for anybody losing quarters in this machine".

Really, although most of the patrons were college age, there was a wide range of people represented. Behind us near the back, four or five teenagers were planted on an old couch (since there is no alcohol at all everybody is welcome). The couches had us expecting Phoebe or Rachel to drop in at any minute (sadly no). The two of us were probably somewhere at the other end of the bell curve (age wise). Actually, a couple members of the band may have been older than us.

The music itself was really great, although the band seemed to go on break quite early (and we left before they started up again). One oddity that is probably common to Jazz Ensembles, was that the vocalist seemed to have very little to do, contributing here and there to the audio experience, but otherwise enhancing the performance simply by listening intently and swaying to the beat.

If my snide descriptions sound like I had a bad time, you're wrong. It was really great fun. I'm thinking of going again someday, even despite the fact that we had to wonder how many people there thought we were a gay couple. Besides Jazz and other musical genres, Java Hut hosts open mike poetry nights. If they don't have bongos I'll be very disappointed.

* My friends who have heard the Waitiki album Charred Mammal Flesh should recognize the reference to Mr. Ho's Yummy Hut Yee Haw, one of the more spirited tracks on that awesome album. Like Java Hut, Yummy Hut is a real place (in Somerville, MA) Can you say Road Trip?