[122] Screed City

[122]

04/02/2022 Saturday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

G went back to Chatham. Think we had a good time though. I mean, last night we went to the Compound. Scott made Chicken Marsala, I think is what it is called. Very tasty. With homemade noodles and some tasty bread from somewhere. Margaret is in town. For the weekend. I mean, there was quite the snow storm driving back to Beaver Haus. Visibility was crap. It was kind of a lowbeam sort of driving. 35 mph. I must be traumatized by the Winter because I was very confused by all the snow on the ground in the morning. I had completely forgotten that it snowed last night. I mean, I guess I just assume a blizzard will blow in at all times now. And Vermont will be cold and gray and last us for the rest of our lives.

It was a nice day though. Aside from the snow. Sunny all day. We went for a walk up the Access road. Me, Grit, G, Margaret, the Publisher, Lovey-Dog and Putney. Only minimal complaining from the children and Margaret. I mean, in their defense it was three miles uphill on snow covered dirt roads. Grit had a Fun Dip that made her lips and nose green. We didn't see any mooses. Margaret and G talked about mensuration for a while. Grit got pretty bored until snow balls started flying. The kids only made it to the bridge. The adults went to the first look-out. Where I chased that moose that one time during the Last Good Summer. I mean, all in all, it was a nice and fun walk. There was some book talk. Apples and pretzels. Cold water. Loud barks.

After that I drove G back to Beaver Haus to get their stuff and get ready to drive to Manch Town. I made some tacos for lunch. Black beans and ground beef. Cheddar cheese and iceberg lettuce. Flour tortillas. G had some tea. Sleepytime. Then we got on the road and listened to pop music on the radio. Saw some sights. Met their mom in the parking lot of Zoe's Double Hex. Then I drove back. Saw some more sights. It was dusk at this point. I saw a few deer. A weird bird that I couldn't identify.

I guess I head to Portland tomorrow. Brother Luke never answers his phone so I don't know when I should try and get there. I mean, I will try again in the morning. It is H's birthday, so I assume there is a party. But I doubt I will get there before 6p. I mean, it is a 3 hour drive if I take the interstate. But I doubt I will do that. It is a four hour drive if I take the back roads over the White Mountains in New Ham. Which I will do. I mean, three hours of torture versus an extra hour of driving. It seems like a no-brainer Rainer to me.

Not sure how things are going over in Germany right now. Professor Curly doesn't answer her phone either. I mean, both her and Brother Luke have very busy schedules and shit going on, so I don't really blame them. I mean, I am pretty bad about answering my phone and I don't have shit going on, so... I learned today that Ben & Jerry's ice cream was originally going to be a bagel company. That delivered bagels and the NYTimes to you on Sunday mornings. I mean, aside from the NYTimes thing, I think maybe I should take their business idea. Of sorts. I mean, I could make bagels all night Saturday night and deliver them first thing Sunday morning. I guess. I mean, I doubt it. Maybe I could go to the doctor and get an Adderall script or something. I mean, there are like five people around here that would sign up for that shit. But maybe I could do something like get into cahoots with the bakery in Roach Town? Bring them, I don't know, 40 bagels early Sunday morning? I mean, just writing that makes it obvious that that is a stupid idea. I mean, if anything I should sell bagels at the Waitsfield Farmers Market. Which I never tried to do last year. I mean, if Abbie ever gets back to me. Which, if I am right, she is nursing a two month old at the moment. I mean, her Farmers Market duties are probably reduced considerably. I mean, if I remember right she only worked three days a week as it was. On that thing. I mean, I don't pretend to know what she is up to. But I did figure out that she only checked her electronic mails two days a week and Saturday was the market, so she had to be there for that. I mean, whatever. I keep wanting to start a business, but then there is too much to figure out with such little money coming, I mean, baked goods are about as good of a business plan as owning a bar is. Unreliable. Too much work. Long hours. Very little help. Huge overhead. Stupid hours. And everyone wants everything for free. I mean, at least in the bar business your product doesn't go bad if you don't sell it immediately.

Scott last night reminded me about this party we met at 23 years ago. Which, I mean, a blast from the past. But still. We were at some empty apartment on the Upper West Side. I remembered it being closer to Chelsea, but I think I had only been in the City for a few days. Maybe a week or two. I mean, I had just turned 19. I spent my birthday on the campus of Sarah Lawrence College. I mean, I don't remember why. Or, you know what, I do. Marty. Marty went to Sarah Lawrence. He was the guitar player for Uwe. We drove into town. Into Yonkers or whatever. From Denver. We had driven for 37 hours straight in his Subaru Outback. With all the band equipment. Okay. Lets go back. I didn't turn 19 on the campus of Sarry Larry, I turned 19 in the City. We went to a Jonathan F*re Eater concert. Blonde Redhead opened for them. But that is not the point. The point is, we went to Sarry Larry to see his friend Michael before we were going to drive into the City to move in with Iver. Whatever. I mean, not whatever, because I nearly got chased off of campus with torches because I was not welcome there. But we stayed a few days in Michael's dorm. Marty had dropped out of school and wanted to be a rock and roll dude. So he moved to Denver with me and Jacob and Rocky. Man, this story is too long and convoluted. I should just write it down elsewhere. But the point is. Me and Marty stayed at Sarah Lawrence College for a couple days. I nearly got thrown in jail for being very un-PC. Then we hit the skids and went down to the Lower East Side to move in with Iver. Rocky and Jacob stayed behind in Denver to get our last paychecks from Ticket Master. Where we were all working. At the phone bank. They took the Greyhound out. A few days later. Which, I mean, that tortuous bus trip. 48 hours. 48 fucking hours on a Greyhound bus. But back then it was very cheap. $69 anytime. Anywhere in the continental United States.

I mean, a few days after we got to the Lower East Side Jacob and Rocky showed up. The band was back together. That concert happened. And then a while later there was a party in some empty apartment on the Upper West Side, that I thought was Chelsea. I mean, that apartment belonged to the daughter of none other than Peter Gabriel. I mean it was his apartment, his daughter just had access. She decided to throw a party for her Sarah Lawrence friends. Which included Iver and Marty. And I guess the Radiohole dudes. I mean, I barely remember meeting Scott there. It is funny that he remembers. Because it was a very odd party. But not so odd that it was memorable. I mean, I remember it because I remember doing a cool dance number and slipping on the hard wood floors with my dress shoes that had holes in the bottom. I mean, I thought I was being so cool, but then I slipped and totally humiliated myself. I mean, that is mostly what I remember from that night. That and the fact that there was nothing in the apartment. Like nothing. No furniture. I remember there being prescription drugs in the medicine cabinet. I don't remember if they said Peter Gabriel on them or not. I mean, there was nothing scandalous. Like Valtrex or Viagra or whatever. I just remember looking. And I think we were drinking Balentine 40's. Or not. But that is what we drank at the time. With their bright orange stickers that said $1.99 on them. But maybe because it was such a fancy crowd the beer was something else? Anyway. It must have been 1997. Right? I was born in 1977. You don't count the first year. So 20 years minus one. To make 19. Whatever that means. I mean, that means I have known Scott for 25 years! How crazy is that? A fucking quarter of a century. I should probably buy him a gift for our anniversary. That is the silver one. I should get him a bracelet like the ones you got your girlfriend in middle school. The clunky ones that have something horrible engraved on them. That to this day make you feel ashamed about Society. I mean, I still have the shame of that failed dance move coercing though my body. I mean, I don't even think anyone saw it. It just happened and whatever. But still, it remains. I mean...

So the votes are in. The Hot Dog Screed from Professor Curly's Broadway Debut came in on top. I guess I need to go back and find it now. I mean, I think I will just do a Screed City reading on the 22nd. I don't know what else to do. There is just no time to do anything else. Everyone is busy. I would love to do some sound work on the thing, but then again I would also like to do something with Donkey. I mean, maybe something will occur to me in the next little while. There is still time. And as far as I know I only have 10 minutes to perform, so, I mean, if I was smart I would choose something I like and just rehearse it a few times. Instead of just going in naked.

I guess that is all I have. I was going to go on a rather inappropriate rant, but I stopped myself. I think I will instead eat a chicken sandwich and watch a thing on the computer.