where greek nonfat yogurt rules

I was telling Jorge over coffee yesterday how much I like Trader Joe’s. When I walk into the Trader Joe’s here in San Luis Obispo it feels like attending a party. Some people go to night clubs. Some people go to fancy restaurants. I go to Trader’s Joe’s.

There’s a palpable zaniness within the Trader Joe’s here in San Luis Obispo. Sometimes I drop in when I don’t really need anything, just to be enveloped in that zaniness. It’s fun.

When I lived in Oakland there were two Trader Joe’s – one in the Rockridge neighborhood and a smaller version on the eastern tip of Lake Merritt, that one a bit more frantic. Understandably. The Trader Joe’s in Encinitas, where I spent my share of time during the three months I lived there, was larger and more polite. More money maybe. There were a couple of Trader Joe’s in San Diego, one in the Hillcrest neighborhood, one on Point Loma, both crowded and people squishy.

Yesterday I told Jorge that my favorite of all Trader Joe’s is on Cesar Chavez Blvd at Holgate Ave in Portland, Oregon. My favorite by a mile. Often, when I would pick my son Spenser up from his day program at On The Move, we’d pull into the Trader Joe’s parking lot on the way home. Spenser had many admirers and followers there, always making a big deal to see him. I was well liked too.

I’ve recently decided the next time I move someplace I’m going into the zany Trader Joe’s here and buy four or five of their multi-colored shopping bags to use for packing all the books I’ve published and never sold. Because that seems pretty cool to me.