coffee

Are Third Places Democracy’s Last Hope?

~ Randy Blazak ~ Leave a comment

From The Blazak Report (July 24, 2025)

July 24, 2025

My parents met in a bowling alley. A lot of my generational peers’ parents met in bowling alleys. Those days are long gone. As sociologist Robert Putnam detailed in his 2000 classic, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, nobody joins clubs anymore and our happiness has suffered for it. We are a nation of miserable loners. No wonder people identify with Trump.

A land of 340 million people staring at their phones does not make for a vibrant democracy. COVID was the nail in the coffin of civic engagement. We were locked down with Netflix and we liked it. Why build community when you can binge Love Island? Why prioritize democracy when you can doom scroll. And now you can share your alienation with your AI girlfriend.

All this loneliness is catnip to fascism. Where we got endorphins from meeting people at parties and pubs, we now get it from likes and algorithms. Fascism will walk in while we’re on TikTok, and be just another 60 second reel.

Let’s hope for a countertrend. And the countertrend is actually pretty cool.

As a college student, I probably over-romanticized the mythology of revolutions and protests being born in cafés and coffeehouses, but there is some truth to those stories. Rejecting British tea, the political discussions in the American colonies moved to coffeehouses. The Green Dragon tavern and coffeehouse, built in 1701 in Boston, became known as the “headquarters of the revolution” after Paul Revere bought it 1764 to give the Sons of Liberty a meeting place.

Sociologist Ray Oldenburg, in his 1989 book, Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Bars, Hair Salons, and Other Hangouts at the Heart of a Community, refers to places like the The Green Dragon as “third spaces.” First place is home and second place is work. Third spaces are the community gathering spots where we have regular interactions with our neighbors. They include bars and barbershops, cafés and churches, local stores and hair salons. Anyplace people hang out. In the new 2025 edition, Oldenburg’s coauthor Karen Christensen argues that third places are the answer to political polarization and climate resilience. It’s like that Sesame Street song, who are the people in your neighborhood?

Third places are vital to democracy to several reasons. Putnam argues these places create social capital among community members, building trust which is key to democratic action. Taverns and barbershops encourage free expression and the exchange of ideas. Many a night in my youth I argued theory at cafés until the chairs were on the tables. Third places become places for building social movements. Yeah, Hitler did it in beer halls, but we can hijack Starbucks to fight fascism. Third places are a cure for isolation as we reconnect with fellow travelers. Finally, democracy requires a sense of shared ownership and salons and local shops can help people to care about public life and bond over shared struggles.

In the 1990s, I had a third place I virtually lived in in Atlanta called Café Diem. To say I held court there would be an understatement. But the realization that inhabiting that space and getting to know owners, employees, and regulars was more rewarding than sitting on a couch in front of a TV made it an easy lifestyle choice. Much bohemian joy came from what we lovingly referred to as “Diemland.” Social media has zapped that impulse in the 21st century. We’re zombies.

But the counter-trend is bubbling off screen. Two years ago a group of dads at my daughter’s elementary school started a poker club and it’s become medicine for my soul. Every other Thursday, cards, whiskey, and good conversation. People are re-discovering their local coffeehouses, not as alternative offices, but place just to talk and share the emotions of this insane moment. Churches, mosques, and temples aren’t just for religion anymore. I actually went to a great local church, called Riversgate, to hear people talk about political civility! It was awesome!

So let’s get out of our first place and find a third place. You don’t have to dive in like a crazy person. “Hi everyone! What the fuck are we gonna do about this fucking fascism?” Ease in like you’re a new kid at school. Third places are relaxed. Belly up to the bar and check the vibe. You might talk about a ball game or the history of the establishment long before you bridge political chat. Maybe you’ll just hang out reading a book until somebody asks you what you’re reading. But that’s your place and those are your people. It’s time to get to know them. Democracy might depend on it.

The American Revolution started in a coffee house. And it will again.

What drugs go well with a toddler?

~ Randy Blazak ~ 3 Comments

October 26, 2016

I’ve learned that you need three things if you have a two-year-old. You need plenty of rags, a subscription to Netflix (for Beat Bugs), and lots of drugs. Lots of drugs if you want to survive even a day. My drug of choice is caffeine, but I’m in the market for something more appropriate for my needs as a stay-at-home dad.

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The first order of business in the morning, before I can even look my daughter in the face, is to get the pot dripping the black gold. Lately, my dealer has been a Portland roaster called Kobos. Their Ethiopia Yirgacheffe blend is like a spike in to my vein.I pour that first cup, half of it spills on the kitchen floor and I don’t even care. I’ll keep the java flowing through her breakfast in a high chair (with Cheerios hitting the kitchen floor in a Portland version of the fountain show at Bellagio), and the trip to take Mom into work. On good days, we’ll drive-through Starbucks on the way, where I’ll beg them not to put a plastic stopper in my latte and pray that no Stumptown Coffee loyalists spot me crouched behind the steering wheel like a junkie cheating on his supplier.

When the coffee pot is empty there’s always another on deck. And it tends to go quick. I think Cozy is stealing slurps from my Star Trek Enterprise mug when I’m not looking. It’s my fault. When she was a baby, I’d let her smell everything at the grocery store as we shopped, including the dark roast beans. Now, instead of screaming, “Cilantro!” she yells. “Coffee!” It’s really quite cute/embarrassing.

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In the beginning, it was out of necessity. Everyone knows new parents don’t get much sleep. When I was a punk rock teenager, we used to get coffee at an all-night diner in Atlanta called The Majestic, just to come down from a night of terrorizing the city. Same thing with a newborn. But it changed when Cozy turned two. Last August, about a week after her birthday she had a meltdown in the Mexico City airport. She wasn’t going anywhere. I remember thinking, “I need something stronger.” As Huey Lewis once horribly sang, “I want a new drug.”

Just the “Do you need to poop or not?” question is enough to put me on prescription pain meds.

So I’m open to suggestions.

california-marijuana-cannabis-consultants-denver-consulting-group

I know five states are voting on recreational marijuana on Election Day. We’ve had that here in Oregon since last year and it’s been a huge success. I’m not much of a pot smoker but I went to my neighborhood weed shop and bought a bag just because I could. On the way home, I waved it at a cop and he just smiled. Edibles are more fun, but pot generally makes me sleepy and I wanna be ready if I have to do some kiddie CPR or find her always lost copy of The Cat in the Hat. Plus, I’m working off the baby weight and don’t need to be spending my days with the munchies, eating blocks of cheese or the corners off of The Cat in the Hat (Cozy’s already done that).

Methamphetamine seems more practical than heroin or LSD. There’s never enough time in the day to get the chores done and I’ve heard speed freaks have super clean houses. That might be because they’ve sold everything off. (Has anybody told people on that show Hoarders about this?) But I’m kinda vain and would like to keep as much hair on my head and as many teeth in my mouth as possible. On the plus side, we could probably cancel the diaper service because I would be washing them out myself, probably on our front porch in my underwear.

It seems like ecstasy makes the most sense. The Love Drug. You just want to give free hugs when you’re on X. But then I think I’m already on it. There is some endorphin wave that seeps out my brainstem into my entire body whenever I look at my daughter. Yesterday a worker at the gym asked her, “So what’s your name?” And she answered, “Cozy!” It was the first time she ever said she was her name. I melted in a puddle and could barely climb on the elliptical machine afterwards. When I put her to sleep we just lay on the floor, face to face, staring at each other. She smiles and I feel like I’m living in a psychedelic cartoon; the end of Yellow Submarine when the Blue Meanies have been defeated. “Beatles?” she’ll quietly ask. I exist on a plane of perfection.

saltandstraw

Maybe my daughter is the only drug I need. I know if either of us are down, there’s one word that brings things up. “Bubbles?” And if either of us are stressed out, we have total permission to shout, “ice cream!” and walk up to Salt & Straw for a cup of Chocolate Gooey Brownie. When it’s time to chill, “Hey Jude” always does the trick. She whispers the na-na-na-na-na-na-na part. And I’m high as a kite.

I hope you don’t mind if I bogart this kid.

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