| rev:text
| - My review of this place practically wrote itself the moment I stepped in.
Remember when you're a kid and your teacher asked what you wanted to be, and some uber-ambitious kid would reply "an astronaut cowboy/girl movie star and maybe a veterinarian because I wanna help sick bunnies"?
Conspire was what happened that kid. They became an anthropomorphic storefront.
It's a library. It's a coffee shop. It's an art gallery. It's a fashionable boutique. If Superman and The Hulk each grabbed a side of Conspire and stretched it out, it would fill out enough niches to fill an entire strip mall.
I get really weird about local business. Whenever I step in, I just want to buy the shit out of everything they have. I'm not sure if it's the compulsive shopper in me or if I'm just that delusional that I believe that my one purchase actually makes a difference.
Luckily for me, the 12 dollars cash I had on me wasn't nearly enough to get anything snazzy enough for my liking (here or anywhere else at the Harvest Festival).
There were a lot of really cute tops, though. I briefly considered getting Amanda B and myself matching "Women Against Sarah Palin" t-shirts, but once that plastic menace is taken out of its card holder it doesn't go back easy. And I still have a trip out to San Francisco and a hard case for my upright to finance.
The highlight of the trip was the anarchist library, an erratic hodgepodge of books messily stacked according to categories like "Conspiracies" and "Anarchy". I read Jon Stewart's "America: The Book" while I gave my aching feet a rest (heels on hardwood...no bueno) and Amanda read passages of old books at her daughter. I'd really like to see this section of Conspire expand over the next few months/years. I've grown really burned out on The Man's libraries as of late (mostly because I owe them all money), and while I'm sure it happens rarely, I saw Se7en, I know those librarians who greeted me with a smile and encouraged my literacy will gleefully give the spooks a list of all my check-outs for them to view at their pleasure.
"What's this word mean? Gender dysph--fuck it, bring her in for questioning."
I can't wait to spend evenings sitting at the picnic tables sipping coffee and spouting off my leftist views to friends and passersby.
It took me until my senior year but I'll finally get to live out my dream of being an art school stereotype.
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