[128] Screed City

[128]

04/23/2022 Saturday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Well, the reading at Tom's went fantastic. The reading at PS/NY went fantastic. Sold some books. Made some friends. Added some electronic mails to Screed Village. I mean, I even taught a guy how to Screed last night. I mean, he was well on his way, but he kept apologizing about his "Rant" I said, it's not a rant it's a screed. And you can screed until the cows break wind for all I care. It is your American right. I mean, Jack and Moses played behind me at Tom's. I mean, we really turned the screed into some rock and roll mania for a while there. Hank and Cesar were great. Nobody drank the Ticklers except Tom had a little glass and Rambona seemed to enjoy them. She mixed them with lemon cider. Which, to each their own, I suppose. I had to leave a gallon behind. I really didn't want to. That jug was very hard one. But I wasn't going to carry a gallon full of Ticklers, my lighting pole and a heavy ass bag of books on an hour long subway ride. I mean, one of these days I will learn to use the ride share thing, but I just can't do it. I hate cabs. I just hate them so much. It makes me feel so very gross.

The thing at PS/NY was a different beast altogether. I mean, personally, I nailed it. Plus I had a guy following me with a spot light as I paced around in the middle of the space. Jorgen's music playing in the background. Video from Sequestered on the walls. I mean, there must have been over 40 people there. Bill Kennedy showed up. When I started reading, or tried to start reading I couldn't find my book mark because I forgot to bring my "Iron Your Money" copy of Sequestered, so I had to use a very thin receipt from the grocery store. I mean, I had no dollars to use. Which make perfect book marks, fyi. But as I was fumbling through the pages Bill yelled "Page 69!" I mean, the jerk. But the reading was good. Joe S. was there. Professor Curly was there. Murphy. Hanna. Z. Marianna. Rambona. Michael. I mean, I guess I can't just name everyone that was there. That is a little ridiculous. But there was some dance numbers and a light show and a DJ and a kegerator and fun times. A guy passed out in one of the bathroom stalls that we couldn't wake up. I mean, that was scary at first because we thought he had OD'd. But he was just passed out. His pants down around his ankles. I saw his wiener. There was no turd in the toilet though. I mean, that is pretty intense. To have to shit. Walk into the toilet. Shut the door. Lock it. Sit down. And before a single thing comes out you are lights out? Hard core. I mean, I felt for the guy. The last time I saw that happen was back in the 90's. I still remember it like it was yesterday. Manuel. But the thing about him is that he managed to shit. And for some reason the turd was white. Which, at the time seems weird. I mean, now, being older, I am a little concerned that something was wrong with him at the time. But back then it just seemed funny. I mean, he was lying on the floor though. Not sitting up. So I didn't see his wiener. Just his naked butt with his pants pulled down. I mean, that is pretty hard core too. To shit. Wipe. Then stand up and immediately pass out and fall to the ground? I mean, I won't lie, there was a lot of booze that night. I mean, last night wasn't un-boozy, but it wasn't a late teens early 20's house party in Powell, Wyoming kind of boozy. Where every other person showed up with an 18 pack of Busch or whatever. IceHouse.

I mean, we ended up on the roof. Yacking away. That is where the guy did his screeds to me. I mean, they were right up my alley. Talking shit about the racist Right and how we treat the Holocaust. I mean, he is Jewish so he had some pretty deep feelings about it. And he connected it all to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. And his GF. So, I mean, it was kind of an epic screed. With humor and incredulity. Plus socking it to his partner. I mean, I am hoping he can get his own Screed City going. The world needs more screeds. Fuck Twitter. Twitter is Screed Junior. I mean, VOTE RED DEMOCRACY DED. That's Twitter. But a real screed, a nice and juicy one, I mean, that takes some words. And nuance. And some real deep feeling. Like:

You ever notice this: LGBTQ are the first letters in Let's Go Brandon, Trump, Q? Coincidence?

Poor Professor Curly. She went home early last night and slept for 12 hours straight. I mean, I really feel like I am keeping it real for her sometimes. Like the more she works the less I work. I mean, not on purpose, but it does seem to line up that way. I don't know how she does it. I mean, I just need to lie low and get her to sign the papers AHEC, you know, just in case. She asked me for my birth date in the morning which was weird. I mean, I didn't know the Publisher had texted me and her about it because of plane tickets for California, but at the time I was like "What? Do you need my social security number too?" And she was like "And your bank account number." And I was like "Oh, right! I need yours as well." And suddenly there was a stand-off. A real stale-mate. As the bridesmaids say. But once those papers get signed. Easy Street, USA. Population: Yours Truly.

I mean, ASAP got replaced. As soon as possible is now AYEC. At your earliest convenience. Or AMEC, at my earliest convenience. Or AHEC, at his or her earliest convenience. Or ATEC at their earliest convenience, or whatever. The passive-aggressive just got super specific. And agro.

I ditched Queens around 1130a. Which was kind of a rush. Normally Professor Curly is up at the butt-crack of dawn as the bridesmaids say. But like I said, she was sleeping like log. And it was nice. But we didn't even wake up until 10a and she immediately had to get on the phone and have a meeting. I mean, I got up and hit the showers. Made some coffee and some eggs with bacon and cheese. Wrapped in a flour tortilla. Packed. I remembered almost everything. I forgot my wireless speaker though. Which is too bad. I have some things to listen to. Mainly the Donkey BOT [Book On Tape.] Which Shane sent me a thumb drive of. I mean, I will figure it out, I guess. Maybe head phones? I mean, we said our goodbyes. I started carrying my bag and a box of books and the lighting pole to the car. But then I remembered the car key. So I had to go back. Then I left again. Then I remembered my phone. So I had to go back. Then I left again. In the end it was a pain in the ass. In normal times I could have just parked the car in front of the apartment and loaded it up, but because it was Saturday there was no parking and double-parking the car meant clogging the street so nobody could get through. And I am not that kind of guy. So I lugged all that shit uphill for six blocks. Got into Junior Mint. Put the address in my phone and hit the skids. I mean, for some dumb reason the thing was telling me to take a very stupid route and because of that time we didn't go through Manhattan to get to IKEA from Queens I believed the idiot thing. I mean, I hate it so much. I just do. I mean, even if you get stuck in traffic, so what? I mean, if you know a route. Traffic is traffic. I mean, it is just this idea that there is a faster route out there that makes you make these dumb decisions. I mean, I should have ignored it. I should have just done what I did last time and put the address I was going to as the Taconic Parkway. And then when I got there I could recalibrate. But nope. I followed the dumb phones ideas. Got stuck in traffic irregardless. Ended up missing my exit because it sent me on the most complicated nuanced no-turning-back route that I had to get off the interstate, turn around. Get stuck in more traffic for no fucking reason and in the end just ended up where I would have ended up anyway had I just trusted my god-damned instincts in the first place. I mean, whatever. The robots are already fucking with us. Laughing and laughing. Talking to each other. Saying shit like "Hey, watch this, I bet I can get this moron to go against every fiber of his being to save four minutes of travel." And then when we do it? Whoops the phone is at zero power. You have to pull over and wait for the thing to charge for ten minutes before it will even turn on again because none of your power cords work anymore and it feels like you buy a new one every fucking week. And then you are lost somewhere near the Bronx? Maybe? And when the phone turns back on it is telling you to go South on I-95? Towards the BQE? What the actual fuck? And you don't have a map. And there is nothing you can do. And not only that but you were supposed be heading towards the Hutchinson Parkway, but there were never any signs for that and what the hell is the Cross Island Expressway? Didn't I just cross a huge bridge that was supposed to take me to Yonkers? Where the fuck am I? Who are these Christians? Nobody believes in the old gods anymore. I mean, as I was turning around some guy got really pissed off at me. For good reason. I was driving like a cataract on wheels. Not sure where I was going. Going 30 mph in the left lane. Saying out loud "Do I get off? Do I stay on? Is that my exit? Am I even in NYC anymore?" I mean, whatever. I did figure it out. I kept driving. Eventually I was on the Taconic. Where I should have been all along. I mean, whatever.

Eventually I got to where I was heading. The reason I was in a rush. Poughkeepsie. G had an Ultimate Frisbee game against some school called LongView Friends or something. I mean, I am really digging this new development with G. They have to be on a sports thing. And Ultimate Frisbee is their choice. I mean, I also learned that Theater is also a sport at their school. Which! I mean, they were complaining to their mom the other day that they had to go to some dumb sports awards thing at school and wasn't that lame. But during the ceremony they received a trophy for "Most Promising Actor." Which is fantastic! A trophy for being most promising. In acting. As a sport! Haha! Why the fuck not? I mean, I like where this is going. I mean, I got to the campus of the Friends school. Which, I mean, these schools. No security at all. Which, I don't know. Maybe good? Maybe bad? I mean, the work I did in the five boroughs of New York post 9/11 post Columbine post Rudy post Law and Order. I mean, none of that is post anything, really, just whatever that means. I mean, where we treat the poor like criminals. Especially the people of color in inner-cities. Butwhatever. To drive onto this campus in my 2004 Nissan Ultima. A campus that has boarding students. TEENAGE boarding students. I mean, with no security at all. I mean, G's school in XXXX is the same. I have three times now just shown up in the work van and nobody says nothing. I mean, part of me is like, yeah, society is not the moral panic that the racist Right thinks it is, but on the other hand, I mean, maybe have a person at the gates asking a question or two. Like "Hello, who are you here to see? Okay." Even if they don't look at my license or whatever, just somebody there to be a witness to what is going on. I mean, nothing intrusive. But, I mean, just ignoring work vans or random dudes driving onto the campus? I mean, of all places? I mean, kids are idiots. They need adults to protect them. That is the main reason for parents. Otherwise they would all just die from doing stupid stuff. I mean, the first ten years of a kid's life is to try and get killed and for the parent's to prevent that. I mean, whatever. I don't want to think about it anymore. I mean, I don't think the schools should be locked down and have metal detectors or something. I just mean there are practical ways to deal with strange weirdos like me coming and going with carte blanche. I mean, I am not a bad thing, a bad person, and frankly, I should be the least of their worries because I don't pretend to be something I am not, but still, I think it is very funny I can just drive around these places and nobody says anything. That there is nobody there to say anything. Or not even say anything, just be aware of the comings and goings. I mean, maybe I am just being paranoid and a parent. But still. Most people are cunts. As Jack would say.

Anyhoodles. I drove straight to the frisbee game. Parked. Walked over. Sat down on the bleachers. Everyone assumed I was there for the game. As a parent. Which I was. But still. The two teams were stretching. Practicing their frisbee skills. The Friends teams coach was something else. I mean, he was very riled up. I mean, security should have checked that guys ID because he was way over-excited about a frisbee game. I mean, he was pacing back and forth. Getting the team stoked about victory. I mean when the game started and his team was doing stupid shit he would get visibly upset. Yell. Clench his hands. His jaw. Sometimes he would yell "You can relax! Just relax! There is no timer! Take your time!" And nobody would listen to him. I mean, it was fucking frisbee. I mean, it took quite a bit of time to figure out the rules. I mean, I guess it is like basketball. Basketball combined with football. You throw the frisbee to another person. Then they have to stop and throw it to someone else. The whole idea is to get it into the end zone. And that is it. There is no referee. No "Travelling." Just one team trying to take the frisbee from the other team and trying to get a goal. I mean, G was pretty good. Number 4. The jersey. The other team. The Friends team didn't have jerseys. They were ragtag. But G's team looked sharp. And it was funny to see G running around on the field. A big smile on their face. Kind of looking like an athlete. I mean, it was frisbee so, what can you say about that, but still, it was something. I mean, this kid Behr, who was the guy that did the soliloquy at the Theater show not long ago. The guy that was supposed to be a great actor but was actually not. But has a huge heart and a huge desire. I mean, I feel for him because as much as he is supposed to be good at things, he actually is very mediocre but for some reason he feels some huge pressure to succeed. Even though he is just normal. I mean, he has quite a few hard years ahead of himself while he figures this out. I mean, it was apparent also with his frisbee skills. He just wants it so bad, but he just doesn't have it. I mean, I don't know if G has it either, but they don't seem heartbroken when they miss a frisbee throw or whatever. This guy Behr. I mean, he was beating himself up about everything. Yelling at the coach "I think I got this. One more point, Coach!" I mean, it was frisbee! And I think the kid is a Senior. Getting upset and winded by a frisbee game. Pushing himself to the limits of his body. I mean, it was kind of intense. And, I mean, I am not saying G is a natural or a frisbee genius or a theater sports genius, I am just saying that the difference in attitudes versus the reality of the situation. I mean, poor Behr. Yay, G!

I mean, eventually G's mom showed up. Then Erin and M. Who came up-State for the weekend. We watched the game. There was a bunch of local parents that came. Not so many on our side of things. I mean, when I was cheering for G they kept looking at me, the Friends parents, like I was a dick. Rooting for the wrong team. I mean, whatever. I mean, I enjoy a good rivalry. I think our team was better, but the other team had more moxie. Ragtag. They scored on us multiple times. Behr got upset. This other kid, George, kept getting taken off the field for some reason. A reason I never did figure out. But, I mean, he got so upset at one point that he threw his hat on the ground. Yelled. "Fucking hell!" Picked his hat up again. Put it on. Threw it back on the ground. I mean, it was a wild scene. I mean, G said that they were the varsity team. Which didn't make any sense until I found out that there is three kids that just don't ever play. Who just sit on the sidelines. Doing what? I don't know. I mean, it's not like they were practicing throwing frisbees. They just sat there. On the bench. I mean, I guess I never described the whole thing, but maybe it was obvious? A large grass field with no goal. A metal bleachers. Two metal bench things next to the field. One team on the left. One on the right. About twenty feet apart. Down the way a yellow bus. Sitting. Waiting. I mean, for christ’s sake they had water bottles for the kids. Like athletes. I mean, they were doing tons of running. I am not saying the water was a bad idea. I am just saying that it was a sports event. G's team had two coaches. Uniforms. I mean, they should have had cheerleaders. I mean, I yelled a few times:

"Come on, Truman! Get your mind in the game!"

"Rush! C'mon! Rush!"

"Get in the end zone! Are you kidding me!?"

"Be! Aggressive! B! E! Aggressive!"

"You got this team!"

I mean, I don't know if that was helping or not. I eventually had to leave because the game was going long and I had another four hours to drive so I yelled at G "G! I have to go! I will see you later! G! G!" They were ignoring me. I got up to leave. Then the team yelled back "Goodbye, Dad!" At which point I yelled "You all did a great job!" I mean, they yelled back "Thanks!" I mean, not just G, but the whole team. I mean, they were tied 13 to 13 when I left. I am not sure how it ended.

I got back in Junior Mint and hauled ass to Vermont. I had to stop for gas. Which, I mean, I was trying to avoid that, but then the phone was telling me to get on the Taconic which sucks for gas things. So I stopped at a gas station I didn't want to. Right before then entrance to the Parkway. I got gas. Got back in the car. Backed up to park. Went inside. I had to get a number from the clerk to get into the bathroom. I mean, I had to piss. Which was annoying. I needed some food but there was only chips and stuff. I did find a pre-made sandy. Which was sketchy as hell, but I was hungry. I took that and the chips I found and the diet Coke and the bag of nuts to the counter. I was going to pay with a $20 dollar bill that someone gave me last night but the cost was too damn high. I had to use the $100 dollar bill that Joe S. had given me. That apparently he had gotten from the metal guys earlier in the day yesterday. Which, in all of the ironies, that god-damn metal money. I mean, it keeps showing up. It is like some worm crawling around Society that weird dudes like me and Joe and Scott and Squirts pick up every now and again. Like some odd kiss on the neck from god. Saying, "I know I made you assholes poor for a reason, but let me make it up to you with this bullshit." I mean, Squirts is a different story, maybe Jayboo is a better example, but that guy goes to church, so I don't know. I mean, sometimes you win some. And then it ends up in your wallet.

I mean, I drove back to Vermont. Meanwhile, four hours later. I mean, when I got to VT 100 this woman pulled me over. Honking and flashing her lights. I rolled down my window. She rolled down her window. She yelled "Your gas cap is open!" I mean, for 200 miles I had been driving with my gas cap off the fucking tank. The lid spread open. I mean, I pulled over and parked and got out. I waved at her. She had followed me for a while just to tell me that. I mean, what the hell? Had gas just been spilling out the whole time? I mean, the gas cap was still hanging from the lid. I mean, in a very ironic turn of events it was right next to the place that I got gas when I was driving down to the City in the first place. When it was snowing and the woman said "What the hell is this? All the seasons at once in one morning? Welcome to Vermont, right?" I mean, that was cool that she pulled me over. The woman who noticed. I mean, she was going the opposite direction. I mean, it was like leaving your blinker on for miles and miles and miles. Which, I mean, I don't know. On one hand I think of myself as a very good driver, but then I do shit like that? Or when I was lost in the Bronx? I mean, it is wild out there. In my defense, that thing doesn't really close. The flap. And I was very distracted when I stopped to get gas. I was hungry and had to piss and I had just watched a very weird game of frisbee. But still. 200 miles! Over three hours of driving. The thing just flapping in the breeze. I mean, how many people did I pass? Looking at me like the idiot that I am. Probably singing along to crappy pop songs on the radio. Getting upset with driving choices of the people in front of me. I mean, it is kind of funny. I suppose.

Butwhatever. I made it back. Fed the farm at the Compound. The Publisher is running a marathon in Portland, Maine tomorrow. Good luck! Drink some water! Remember to stretch! Made it back to Beaver Haus. Fed the little idiot goats. Checked on my Ticklers brewing. Still bubbling. I mean, the power went out when I was gone. Apparently. The plants are still alive. I hope I sleep well tonight. It has been a long week. I need to go over to the Compound in the morning. Feed the farm. Putney is on meds because he bit a bunch of quills into his mouth. From a porcupine. Fucking idiot. I mean, that dog. But! He has a big heart. I mean, there is shit to do here. Tomorrow I think I will make a list.