[121] Screed City

[121]

Thursday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Burlington. It just never goes the way think it will. The drive is too long and the town is just kind of no bon. I mean, is no bon better than no Bueno? No Bueno seems somehow mis-guided. Not exactly appropriation, but kind of. I mean, I like how it sounds. How it comes out. But it reminds me of when people used to wear those shirts that said "Nuevo York." I mean, the same thing. In a sense. I mean, it was always White hipsters that wore those shirts and it is always White hipsters that say "No Bueno." I mean, that is not true, if you speak Spanish you probably say "No Bueno" quite often, but still. I mean, I am probably making it into something that it is not. But "No bon." Seems more appropriate. I mean, in the sense that the word "Bon" has been incorporated into English pretty good. Bonfire. Bon voyage. Bon vivant. Bon Iver. Bon Jovi. Bon-bons. Bon, James Bon. You know? But "Bueno?" Not so much. And maybe it is a good thing to put more Spanish words in our vocabulary. But then this kind of seems like the difference between Spanish and Hispanic and, I mean, whatever. I just think the phrase "No good" is clunky and kind of lacking poetry. Or the nuance that "No Bueno" has. I mean. "No good" just means no good. But "No Bueno" means no good, but really a special kind of no good. Like, really not any good. Like hands down no good. Like absolutely no good. I mean, "Kaput" is closer to "No Bueno" then "No good" is. But then "Kaput" really lacks grace. And is probably closer to "It stinks" then it is to "No good." Anyway. Burlington was kaput. No bon. It just never goes the way you think it will.

I mean, G is over. Staying until Saturday. We needed to get a present for their cousin H. Who is turning eight? I think. On Sunday. His dad, Brother Luke said he wants a hover board or a watch. I mean, I want a watch. I kind of wanted to get us matching calculator watches. But then I didn't want to step on his dad's toes about gifts. And as far as hover boards are concerned, I don't even know where you would get one of those things. And are they super expensive? Do they work? I mean, me and G found a hover soccer ball. Which runs on batteries. I mean, we found it at a Home Goods store. So it is absolute crap. But who knows. Maybe it is fun for a second. We also got E a present. H's sister. I mean, it is the weirdest little toy. A blonde haired White girl with a plastic piñata. I mean, if I am having trouble with "No Bueno" I should definitely have a problem with this toy, but it is so damn weird I couldn't resist. I mean, even though it is H's birthday I feel like I should bring E a present too. I never see either of them on their birthdays. And I mean, I got one of Brother Jade's kids a gift when their birthday fell during the time we were in Wyoming last Summer and I still feel guilty about not getting his other 20 kids a present. I mean, I grew up with four brothers. I know what it feels like when your sibling has a birthday and you don't. The jealousy is rampant. And everything seems unfair. I mean, I joke about how many kids he has. But he has quite a few kids. No judgement. I am just saying, it is kind of like bringing candy to school. You have to bring enough for the whole class. And because I didn't do that I am now projecting my feelings on things that are none of my business.

After we got the things from Home Goods we drove over to the brewery store. I needed some air-locks. I am increasing my Tickler enterprise. I don't know why, but I like doing it and the Ticklers are delish. It is just the system I have doesn't really account for things like sediment and whatever. I mean, I want a clean Tickler. Right? I mean, I went inside. It was the same lady as last time. I knew what I wanted but she is kind of a hands-on kind of person. Which just made things hard because I don't think so good when I got someone breathing down my neck. I mean, I knew I needed at least four more air-locks with gallon jug stoppers. I also wanted to get these bigger ones for these wide-mouth gallon bottles I have. But she wouldn't leave me alone so I bought the wrong size. I mean, she was kind of chastising me for not knowing what I wanted. But I did know what I wanted. I wanted to be left alone to figure it out. I mean, shit, last time she admitted that she doesn't even really brew anything. She just kind of works there. So it was the blind leading the blind as the bridesmaids say. I mean, in my mind I decided that being too big was better than being too small. I mean, Professor Curly tells me that all the time. Ay-oh! I mean, I was thinking I could modify the things when I got home. But still. Had she left me alone I would have figured it out. But she didn't. So I bought the wrong things. Which is whatever. I mean, I spent $21.16. There was no tragedy involved. Aside from the fact that we drove over an hour to get there only to buy the wrong thing. I mean, whatever. Next time I will come with a tape measure and a list of shit I need. I mean, winging it was not ideal.

We stopped at some hamburger shop on the way out of town. Which was absolute junk. The ordering process was not very good. No bon. I mean, you order your food. Which was just fine, I guess, but then you get corralled into this maze of rope and stanchion. Which pushes you into a corner. All the while more people are coming in and pushing you further into a corner. And the people in front of you are getting their stuff by the order. Meaning, the bigger and more complicated the order the longer they stand there keeping you cornered. And then when your order comes up they ask you what you want on your cheeseburger and your chili dog. And, whatever. I don't know. Stuff. The guy at the register should have asked me, not the guy making the burger. I mean, this is fast food, right? Capitalism? Does efficiency not count here? Butwhatever. G got the Caesar salad wrap. Which was just a couple chunks of fried chicken and Romaine lettuce and a sack of Caesar sauce. We got a fry to share. Which, I mean, come on. They had three sizes. A cup. A pint. And a quart. A fucking quart of fries! They called them Frys. A quart of frys. You could get cheese sauce on the side if you wanted. Or gravy. I mean, I won't lie, I felt ill the second I started eating. G barely touched the Caesar wrap. It is in the fridge as we speak. The frys were okay. The ketchup dispensers used electric hand-soap technology. Which was annoying. Because it sucks in bathrooms. It really sucks with respect to ketchup. I mean, in the bathroom you just go from one sucky thing to the next until something works. With ketchup you just get screwed and end up ketchup-free for no stupid reason. I mean, whatever. I guess I should submit this review to the council if I really care this much. But I don't. I mean, I do, only because it was so awful. Butwhatever. I mean, it reminded me of these horrible hamburger places in the City that have super cheap hamburgers that feel like you are getting cancer while you are eating them. What are they called? I can't remember. Papaya Dogs! I mean, like that but for hamburgers. I mean, even in your drunkest state you regret going there. Not because you get sick or whatever, but because the things go inside and they never ever come out again. Like swallowing chewing gum. I mean, it is like smoking ten cigarettes each time you go there.

Anyway. Last night was nice. The Publisher and Grit and Scott came over for taco night. Black beans. Steak. Homemade corn tortillas. Onions. Tomatoes. Jalapeños. Cilantro. Grated Vermont cheddar. Lime squeezes. A guac. I mean, I dusted the grill off. First one of the year. I even changed out the gas tank. I mean, I have been nursing the one I have since last year. But the stress of the idea that it will run out at any moment got to me. I decided the last vapors of gas were not worth all the hurt feelings I was having about it. We drank Prosecco. Talked about book stuff. Albany. G going to France and England. I mean, it was a very nice night.

In the morning I got up and cleaned everything up. Oh, wait! Earlier yesterday my phone was acting like a dick. No Bueno. When I got back from picking G up from Manch-Town my phone didn't want to work at all. Then I erased a bunch of shit and I could text. But I couldn't make any phone calls. I thought the Publisher or Scott could fix my phone. But they couldn't. Where it got left, I was supposed to sync it to Professor Curly's MAC and offload all my pictures thereby creating space for the thing to behave again. In the morning I started to do this. But the computer told me I didn't have enough space to sync with the computer. I mean, I went through all of my shit. Erased all my APPS. Deleted "Conversations." I mean, I made a huge amount of space. But still nothing. I mean, eventually I went onto the computer and watched a video. And that video told me to reset my settings. Once I did this I could make calls again. I mean, I don't know what it means, but I am essentially back to using a smart phone like a fucking flipfone. I mean. Did I ever tell you that phones suck? Because they do. I mean, Safari? I can't delete Safari from my phone? Or the "Health" thing? It is like U2 all over again. I have tons of storage but it is all used up because of things that supposedly need to be on the phone. Like some dumb APP that I don't know, knows my "Health?" It is bullshit. And everything is a lie. I mean, technology-wise. And I pay for storage. Every fucking month I give those assholes an extra dollar. I mean, how many people do this? 20 million? 100 million? A billion? I mean, every month those fuckers get an extra $1 billion dollars because idiots like me don't have enough "Storage" on their phones? It is a god-damned racket.

Anyway. Eventually my phone worked and I can make calls now. Whether or not that means it will keep working, I don't know. But the phone is just fine for me. I need the MAP thing and the Capital One thing. Maybe the Venmo and the Square thing. But aside from that. I mean, it is nice to have internet too. But still. I barely use my phone. And, I mean, it is nice to take photos. But so what? I have a pornographic memory as the bridesmaids say. Just joking. That is something my dad would say. Back when he was alive. I mean, I doubt he died thinking about what pictures he had saved on his phone. I mean, he died in 2006, so I don't think he was worried about it too much. But still, I mean, when I die I think if I think about a computer at all I will probably be worried about the "Nudes" I have on my computer and how to keep anyone from finding them. I mean, I don't think I will be worried about the one cool goat picture that I took with the good lighting. I mean, I don't think regret works that way.

I mean, either way. It took forever to get back from Burlington. The whole reason we were going to go there was because of my phone. But then, for whatever reason, when we didn't actually need to go there we still went. I mean, it was nice to go on a little trip with G. You get to talking in the car. And G is 14. There are a lot of thoughts out there. Things that need to be said. But by the end of the trip they had fallen asleep. I mean, I was done myself. It was raining and both of us were not feeling so hot due to the shitty hamburger stand. I mean, when we got back G went up to their room and I spent a couple hours making a Tickler fermenter. Boring out a hole in the lid of this plastic box I have. Making a sugar wash. I think it is called. For four and a half gallons of the good stuff. I mean, I am afraid that I over-heated the yeast a little bit. Which is fine. I can add more yeast when it cools down. But still. I hate to waste the yeast. It is the most expensive part of the process. I mean, bought the good stuff. The champagne shit. And wasting five gallons worth of good yeast is kind of a struggle. I guess. Whatever. You win some et cetera. What's the worse that can happen? Extra sediment is all. That is all.

I sent the electronic mail to Abbie about the Farmers Market. I said I was sorry that it took so long to respond. That I wasn't sure I could do the entire 23 Saturdays in Waitsfield. That I would buy the membership if that made sense but I would not be around in August. And maybe I could become an "Alternate" if she wasn't too annoyed with me. I mean, it was a weird electronic mail. I mean, I still don't know what the future holds. But if I am around here during the markets I still want to do them. I mean, I really like the idea of starting up this business, but still. I don't fucking know. Money, man. I get broker every day. I mean, I am more comfortable writing poems in the gutter than I am selling cabbage burgers, but I am also getting older. I like the fact that I can buy new brewing shit and not have to worry about what drawer I have to use to store the shit. I mean, looking through all of my old photos I came across the photos I sent to Jony about moving out of Brooklyn two years ago. I mean, you just own so much shit. And it is all crap. But it is your life. I mean, up here I can have shit. Down there, in the City, I can't. I mean, it is a huge dilemma. And I am willing to work more to make it happen, I just can never trust when the work is going to come in. So the balance is odd. I mean, if we could afford it we would just buy a house up here and keep a crash pad in the City. But that seems insane. I mean, what do you do? We aren't rich and every single dollar you spend is another dollar you have to make. I mean, because of the Boot Straps nature of American Capitalism you feel guilty if you aren't working towards your future. I mean, everything is a kind of balance of money left on the table versus giving all your money to the fucking landlord. But what can you do? I mean, I know I am not stupid with money, but there needs to be some sort of give-back from Society where you don't have to feel like you are a loser every time you buy a fucking Snickers bar. Right? Am I right? I mean, I don't care for ownership, but I don't, I mean, I really hate the idea that my money is just making someone else richer while at the same time making me poorer. But what can I do? I either say "Yes" and go against everything I believe or I just give into it all and shrug the shit off. I mean, whatever. Time is a motherfucker. And unless we all come to the same conclusion that we are all actually fucked. Not just the losers that can't eat or have a house or go to the doctor. I mean, this greed that is the "Middle Class" where fuck everyone below you because you are trying to get to the top. I mean, I think it is funny that housing now is not "What do I want?" it is instead "What can I get?" I mean, at some point the people that think they are rich are going to realize that they are, in fact, just as poor as everyone else. I mean, it hurts my feelings to pay rent, but so what? Imagine if I invested hundreds of thousands of dollars and still felt like I wasn't getting what I deserved. I mean, it is something to think about. Because it is not going to get better. It is going to get worse. And until we help out the smallest among us we will never help ourselves out either. Just sayin'.

Anyway. Since I just laid a guilt trip on you, let me lay one more. Just joking. I mean, who knows how many of you can actually get to the bottom of one of these Screeds, but the few of you that do, I have a question. Stefan and Hank want to do a cassette tape/record. They want me to do a Screed City on the thing. Maybe you have a particular screed that you enjoyed that maybe should be on it? Something that really stood out? I mean, let me know. Seriously. Like directly respond to this thing. Just hit "Respond" and tell me what it is. They want me to give them three of the best ones, but I don't know what that means. I mean, if it was just my thoughts I would give them the last three. Just because it really doesn't make much of difference to me. I will just blow-hard all day long. I mean, if I had my druthers I would probably go back and find the Escalator writings from like five or six years ago. But I think they want this to be modern. I mean, maybe something that just stuck in your mind that you can knee-jerk my way? Yo, Joe, that one you did about the mice when you were also doing the walking path to the Garbage Room, that one was good. Or something like that. I mean, I am open to whatever.

Anyhoodles. Smell ya on the flip-side.