. -= ° i Yr p J ;i . r" ' , Ys.jit v¢C kf t3 ". 0 NEW YORK SPRNG BEAK N.Y . coffee shops: Windows of the city By Kery Murakami THERE ARE NO coffee shops in Ann Arbor. Oh sure there are places like the Pantree and the Fleetwood, but they're not real coffee shops. A real coffee shop, a New Yorker's coffee shop, must have a certain atmosphere, a certain greasy flavor and feel to it. The Pantree's too clean. The Fleetwood has the right texture, but it fails the most im- portant test. A real coffee shop must be open all night. You just can't plan the revolution over lunch. But as you sit there in your clean coffee shops that'1l close before Letterman comes on, you're probably wondering "So what? Ann Arbor has a lot of things to offer, and if you want to sit around all night planning the revolution, you can do it in the Pantree, even if it is clean." Well, I'm a New Yorker, and coffee shops, real coffee shops, are the quintessence of the city. If the restaurant high atop the World Trade Center is the "Windows of the World," then the coffee shops scattered on the island below are the windows of the city. That's another requirement. Coffee shops have to reflect the neighborhood they serve. Over near where I live is the Madison Food Shoppe, a relative clean little dive on First Avenue and Fifty-Third street. On fifty-third and first as we New Yorkers call it. There isn't much of the revolution here, mainly business establishment types sitting around reading the Times or discussing corporate takeovers or the New York Knicks (the two favorite topics of business establishment types.) Once in a while, you'll also get embassy workers from the multitude of foreign embassies that litter the area between the coffee shop and the United Nations ten blocks away. Other times, you'll also get the wives of the rich establish- ment types - those over there with the fur coats and the huge shopping bags. They've stopped off after another day's battle with "those rude sales girls," at Bloomingdales, ten blocks north. But the coffee drinkers in this joint are basicaly all the same - rich establishment types. This is midtown. Manhattan is like a picnic. Someone's dropped a piece of quiche on the middle of the groundcloth, and all the ants are converging on it. The farther away you get from midtown, the less ants you see. The farther away you get from midtown, the less you see of the Manhattan on "Family Affair." But while most of Manhattan is similar, there are differen- ces. If we take a walk from our first coffee shop to the west side of midtown, we pass Fifth Avenue, the dividing line bet- ween the east and west sides of the island. 4'' cIk VO2h 0 ^y J C Qi Q+ v th, or uptown. But most ostentatious here, sitting amidst the shoppers, ar- tists, and street performers who dance, sing, and juggle - sometimes all at the same time - at nearby Central Park, are the tourists. These are the ones with the cameras and the "I Love New York" shopping bags filled with little elass oaoerweichts with snow falling on the Statue of Liberty. They're the ones with the New York City maps spread out like a tablecloth, talking very loudly and very excitedly about "What are we going to see next?" "Where's the urban blight?" and "Oh my God, is that Dustin Hoffman over eating a burger with Al Pacino?" And those in the next booth, drooling, are the street mer- chants, monetary predators who roam the city searching for tourists or naive New Yorkers looking for a bargain. While this is the best guide to New York ever written, a live guide won't hurt either. The dorms are filled with New Yorkers to befriend, at least until after spring break. God knows that's why everybody loves me. Continuing on our little tour, we head downtown to the southern fringes of midtown. On forty-second street and Broadway, we hit Times Square; the home of the city's pimps, whores, live and filmed sex acts, and of course, fine theater. Coffee shops here are filled with a strange hodgepodge of people in garish, glittery uniforms selling favors and people in garish, fur costumes going to be cultured. Further downtown lies the "Village." Once a haven for in- novative, and revolutionary thought and culture, it is now overrun by the "neon plague." Artists and philosophers who once filled the coffee shops with talk of Warhol and Lenin have been shoved to the surrounding boroughs by radical chic yuppie and their skyrocketing rent. Rob Lowe and Gary Hart are now the coffee shop heroes of the Village. And I bet the cof- fee isn't as good either. Still, Washington Square Park, with turn-of-the-century ar- chitecture and '60s revolutionary graffiti, is still interesting. All the city's a coffee shop, and all the men and women are like Ann Arbor-ites who have found a greasy place to sit around all night. Mountains lure many ski fans. By Melissa Birks AH,SKMNG! The thril of standing in sub-zero temperatures with two thin fiberglass boards strapped to your feet. The excitement of soaring down an icy mountain at break-neck speeds. The romantic allure of meeting members of the opposite sex while wiping a drippy nose. But this is just the tip of the iceberg as far as the fun to be had skiing. Michigan skiers alone will spend $140 to $150 million this year visiting the snow-capped slopes and quiet lodges of the state's resorts. Following are just some of the ski resorts that have proven popular around Michigan, out west, and in Europe. See SNOW, Page 9 By Rob Earle T