[132] Screed City

[132]

05/02/2022 Monday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Well, I never ended up going to Portland. Which is good, in a way. Allows me to sort some stuff out. I mean, I am anxious about money, but that is not new. I really need to let that go. Somehow. I mean, the only way to do that is to make some money though. So what can you do? Can't catch a break. Story of my life. Against all odds. I mean, the problem with freelance work. You can make a buttload more money by doing piecemeal work, but it means you never know when your next paycheck is coming in. OR, you can get a job at 1/3 the hourly rate and insure the paycheck. I mean, then you have that thing of, is waiting three weeks to work worth the anxiety is causes? But then you have to weigh in the fact that working all day every day is a huge time suck so you wouldn't really be able to do all the other stuff that makes your life complete. I mean, Biden's America, right? Gas prices, bills, work insecurity, the constant threat of an economic crash. Shit, that is my entire adult life. I mean, is it possible that American Capitalism might not be the El Dorado it is supposed to be? Just asking questions.

Just joking. I mean, about just asking questions. I am not a dick. Yesterday I changed the handles out on the rear doors of Junior Mint. It was kind of fun. Such weird things, cars. So cheap yet so expensive. When I removed the panels it turns out that somebody had done that already. There is a plastic sheet that they call a vapor lock that keeps water out of your car. On both sides the thing had been removed at some point and the adhesive had dried out. I mean, maybe I am wrong, in the sense that the car is from 2004 and maybe that adhesive just dries out over time, but when we bought the car, back in 2020 there was something fishy about it. Like it didn't make any sense. The miles were low and the thing was cheap. Too cheap. I mean, it was also in very good shape. At the time I remember thinking that it was one of those cars that the cops impound because somebody got caught trafficking drugs or something. Or it was involved in a crime of some sort. Like a robbery. I mean, seeing the vapor lock had been removed kind of proved that. I mean, if it was me and I was trying to get drugs from one place to another hidden from view that would be the easiest place to put them. I mean, it is two screws to get the panel off. It takes like two seconds. Then you unplug the window controls. After that the thing just comes off and you have about three gallons of space to put your kilos of cocaine into. Which! Also. When you put the vapor lock back you have a clean and dry space to keep your drugs nice and comfy. Cozy. I mean, the handles themselves hadn't been replaced. There was one screw on both sides that was seized with rust. Meaning there was no other reason to take that panel off aside from putting drugs in there! And either the cops did a bad job putting the vapor lock back or the drug dealers did. Either way, mystery solved. If you ask me.

After I did a great job on that I had to figure out why the car was making an odd noise when I was backing up. I was worried the brakes were failing again. I had that problem last year. Last Summer when the calipers seized and those rednecks helped Scott figure out what was wrong in the parking lot at that super slow restaurant in Roach Town. Remember that? When the tire stuck and made a 12 foot ditch. and the rednecks were drunk and they were flying all those weird flags in their lawn and there was a moment of National Unity around everything. That we could solve all of our national problems if we just had something else to focus on. I mean, The Last Good Summer Part II.

I mean, I had to jack the rear right tire up to have a look-see. Which was good. For me. I had never used the jack on Junior Mint. When Scott replaced the brakes last Summer he brought his personal jack over. I mean, it is by sheer luck that I have never had a flat tire on the guy. And getting a flat while driving is much worse than just jacking your car off in your driveway. Even if it is sandy dirt. I mean, I jacked it up. Took the tire off. Had a look-around. There was a chunk of rusted metal that was caught between the break pad and the wheel. I removed it. Put the tire back on. And right as rain as the bridesmaids say. I did a good job. No, I did a great job!

As I was working on the tire I could hear Vinney Junior driving around on a dirt bike. Back and forth, back and forth, from his house to the DogHouse parking lot. It was very cute. After a while he drove over and asked if I needed help. I said "No, but thanks though!" A little while later Vinney Senior came over. He was now driving around on the dirt bike. He pulled up and said:

"Hey man, are we bothering you with these dirt bikes?" I had never actually talked to Vinney Senior. I mean, I should have asked him about the panel on the rear doors and smuggling drugs, but I didn't. I was surprised at how healthy he looked. I mean, he looked old and grizzled, bright white hair and a shaggy beard, but he looked healthy and had nice vibes. I said:

"Nah, no worries, man." Then he kind of smiled and said:

"Well, okay. If you have a problem you know where I live. Just come on over. Knock and talk, man. Knock and talk." I gave him a thumbs up and he drove away on the tiny dirt bike.

Knock and talk. Pretty good words to live by. I mean, the implication "Don't fucking call the cops." But still. Neighbors. It is good advice. Take it. We all should take it. I mean, I love a good passive-aggressive anger build-up, but still, knock and talk also works. And not after things get out of hand, but before. I mean, consider the example of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Had Elaine and her husband gone over to Clark's place before things got out of hand, there wouldn't have been any problem. Todd, that is what Elaine's husband was named. Margot was Elaine's name. I mean, "He was a big, beastly, bulging man." I mean, that was Clark's bosses wife that said that, but still. Great movie. Really captures the nature of life in America.

I walked up the road that gave me the bad hip again. Looking for the great New England Camel. I mean, I didn't see one. However I did see tons of new tracks. Like fresh tracks. Not fresh turds though. As I was walking up the road there were quite a few cars on the main road going up. I mean, the road I walked up still had the barrier up. And I think I was the last person to walk up it. But it was MayDay. May first. International Worker's Day. Which, it used to be we would celebrate unions and stuff. But then the Big Low Minimum Wage decided to change that celebration to Labor Day so we would forget all about unions. I mean, I digress, but like all American holidays that shit is fucked up. I mean, whatever. But May 1st is the day that they open all the roads again. Meaning mud season is over, I guess. But because it was a Sunday they hadn't actually opened the gates. Which is why people were driving in. Seeing the roads were still closed and then driving out. I mean, I saw one couple with a canoe on top of their car. I mean, I have no idea where they thought they would put that canoe. Not up there. The rivers are too shallow and as far as I know there is no lake, but still, they had some high hopes. I guess. I mean, they were Mass-Holes, so that kind of means they were a little dim-witted to begin with. But whatever. On the way back down I did run into a guy hiking up the same road I was coming down. I said:

"Howdy!" He had a backpack on. He was very young and put together. Like someone that lived in Vermont for the day hikes. Maybe even went out to bars in Montpelier or something. He said:

"Howdy!"

"Nice day we're having!"

"Yeah, for great ideas!" Then for some reason he pointed down the road. I don't know what he meant. I kind of looked back and watched him hike up the road. I wondered what he was up to with his backpack. I had a bottle of water. I mean, aside from maybe pushing through miles of un-trailed bush there wasn't very much hiking you could do up there. I kind of wondered if he was going up to whack off in the bushes. Maybe have a nice lunch and then come back down. I mean, in my mind it seemed weird to pack a backpack to go for a walk around the block or whatever, but to each their own, I suppose. I mean, when I got to his truck, a Toyota Tacoma, it was parked at the gate. I had parked way down the road. Almost at Granville proper. I looked into the truck. He had some smelling branches on his defrost vents. Which I thought was very telling. That he was indeed going up to whack off to the scenery. He probably even had a picnic blanket in his backpack. Some patchouli lube. The latest Hairy Babes Of New England with a center fold of some sexy New England Camel spread out. Classy of course. No anus. Just nips and hairy crotch.

My beans came. My lord. They sent me a square box that was just filled with dried black beans. No sack. I mean, in the main box there was also some 10" tortillas and foil sheets. A little bit of packing air sacks. It was a very odd and heavy box. But when I opened the thing black beans went everywhere. I mean, I don't about this place. Webstraraunt. com. It seems a little cheap in a way that I don't trust. Like that other place the one that is essentially a bad faith Amazon. I don't even want to mention their name. Because they suck so bad. I mean, I am afraid to do any research on this place. However, the beans came from Nebraska. Which was good. And their computer site seemed good. Committed to providing good beans to the community. I mean, I will take another look when the time comes. Maybe I can buy directly from them?

But a big box of beans? 20 lbs of beans. Just put in a box and taped down? I mean, there was even a little handling hole that I guess was for ease of packing, but also just made a bean spout. I mean, really, there was black beans everywhere. I keep finding them. Why not use a sack? I mean, I guess I am glad that there was no plastic involved, but who orders 20 lbs of beans and just wants them to come in a box? I mean, I didn't, but that is what I got. Maybe you have to buy 50 lbs before they come in a burlap sack or whatever? I mean, farm feed comes in a sack and that stuff is cheaper than 20 lbs of black beans. I don't get it. Butwhatever. This is something I have to deal with now. I can't catch a break. Against all odds. Story of my life.

I mean, I guess I now have to figure out how to soak the fuckers. I watched a thing on the computer about how this guy in Nebraska grows the beans. He was very matter of fact about everything. Then he said you shouldn't soak beans before you cook them. Just boil them. You can know when they are done by putting one in your mouth and pushing it against the top of your mouth. I mean, kind of the last guy you would ask for cooking advice, but then he talked about the buttery nature of beans and I knew he was kindred. I mean, I don't mean to suggest that someone that grows beans for a living doesn't understand beans, but it was his demeanor that I am talking about. His practical nature that kind of suggested that he saw beans as more of a product than a thing you eat. But then he proved me wrong. I mean, once again I have to acknowledge that food writing is where it is at and I need to focus on that more. I just do. That and scripts. I need to write scripts. AMEC.

I mean, I went looking for cranberries today. Who knew they were so hard to find? I thought for certain I could just find a tranche of them at the Shaw's. Either in the produce section or the frozen foods section. I was very wrong. I mean, I guess they are like limes or lemons but only kind of. They grow them in like Florida. In like fields that they flood to harvest them. It is very specific. So they are expensive. I mean, I couldn't find a single lick of them at Shaw's so I went over to Mahuran's. They had tiny little frozen bags for $7.99. Which, no thank you! I mean, the idea is to use them to make the Ticklers effervescent. They have less sugar than grapes so they won't alter the ABV, and they are more tart. I mean, not that grapes are tart. Grapes are the worst. I mean, they are tasty, but they have so much fucking sugar. The idea that they are good for you is nonsense. I mean, kids love them because they are nothing but sugar. I think it is funny in America how we are always going around saying "Eat more fruit! Eat more fruit! Have a glass of orange juice!" And it is basically "Have a candy bar for breakfast or you will die because, I don't know, vitamin C?" Vegetables, yes. Fruit? No way in hell. Sure your butt likes some of the fruit, but in general it is just eating sugar. And for breakfast. I mean, Big Fruit has really done a number on us. And sadly it is Moms that keep pushing this shit. I mean, I learned today that when Ashton Kushner or whatever the hell his name is, that dickwad from the tabloids, when he was doing that Steve Jobs movie he only ate fruit for like months. Because of acting. Method acting. I mean, from what I learned he gave himself Pancreatitis twice! TWICE! Because he only ate fruit all those weeks. I mean, that is what leads to fucking diabetes. The thing that killed Steve Jobs. I mean, it would be like promoting drinking booze to keep you healthy. And then wondering why everyone has bad livers. I don't get it. I won't get it. And I refuse to get it.

I mean, I went home after going to Waitsfield and did some looking around. Eventually I found some dried cranberries on eBay of all places. Four lbs for $27 dollars. If I do the math correctly that will translate to quite a few gallons of bubbles for my Ticklers. I mean, I need to figure it out. If it is raisons it would be like an 1/4 of kids box of raisons per gallon. Are you listening to me? Those little boxes of raisons that we give our kids. The ones that stick in your teeth and give them cavities. Those fucking things have 24 grams of sugar in them. That is equal to a Snickers bar. Healthy fucking raisons. A snickers bar. That gets stuck in your teeth. But you have to stay healthy, youngsters. Otherwise those grapes get used for making wine. 12% ABV wine! I use a lb of sugar for the Ticklers and get 5% ABV. A lb of sugar per gallon of water. Do you know what that means? 2 and 1/2 times the amount of sugars for wine. Which means that a lb of grapes has 2 and 1/2 times more sugar than a lb of sugar. And this is healthy food for your poor little kid. Anyway. The more you know.

[Insert The More You Know video]

I caught another mouse. I won't lie, I can hear them now trying to get in. There is a break in the walls. Fucking hell. I mean, I just sighed. Those fucking things. Unrelenting. At least they are stupid. And guess what attracts them? Raisons. Because why? They love sweet things. I also use chocolate. I mean, whatever. I can win the battle but I will never win the war. I mean, why now though? Winter is over. Why don't they go out and eat the cow shit in the fields? Or, I don't know, anything else. Why do they need to come in here and take little shits everywhere and make me frustrated. Don't they know they will die? That I will work tirelessly to kill them? 59 at this point. I keep a tally. And I am good at outsmarting them. They may have a few days of feasts but in the end they all end up the same way. Ingloriously flicked out into the grass or snow for some cat or whatever to come eat their lifeless, rotting bodies. I mean, maybe I can use the mice to bubble the Ticklers? That would be some nice justice for the world. Save me a few dollars. I mean, it is insane that they keep trying to get in. And not only that but I went into the spooky part of the dilapidated area of the houses extension and really got some super creepy vibes. I mean, that little girl is up to something. It gives me chills right now just writing about her. And not only that, but I have a bunch of work to do out there. Like tomorrow or Wednesday. I mean, how it connects to the mice is that I will have to tear the wall down to get to the insulation. I genuinely am afraid that I might find a body. Or bones. I mean, I wish Professor Curly was around to keep me company out there. Everyone knows that ghosts are afraid of more than one person. And since I will be tearing down the walls I will also find the mice holes. But that is a different fear. That I will tear that shit away and suddenly I will get inundated with mice. I need to be careful. I mean, maybe I should leave a cake out. For both the little girl and the mice. To keep them distracted while I work. I mean, I don't know how I will handle the scene. I mean, I don't think the little girl is going to harm me, she just wants me to know that she is there. And I have news for her, I already know she is there. I mean, should I hang banner up or something? Happy Birthday Amossa. Esmeralda? Maddy? Something with an M. Okay, I have to sleep tonight so I should stop talking about this. But god-damn! What the hell!?

I started writing a new book. A kind of "Break Glass In Case Of Emergency" book. I mean, it is pure satire. That collects all the moral panic that is happening right now and codifies it. Collates it into something that will get banned the second it gets published. Like the Story Of O. Or something. Pure crap. But, I mean, it combines that sensibility with the Turner Diaries. I mean, something tells me that it will somehow speak to the very insane people on the Right that need this sort of porn to keep them going. I mean, it is about a school nurse that lives in a very, very liberal town in the heart of Lib America. Where people are forced to get abortions and become trans. Where teachers teach kindergarten kids about anal sex. Where you get jailed for reading the bible. Where time starts PB. Post Bible. Because America elects a Black president. Where she falls in love with a Black man that doesn't love her back so she gets so upset that she burns the town down. Saving the world from Liberal Indoctrination. I mean, I haven't gotten that far yet. But so far the book is top notch. I mean, so far it is basically a Danica Winters novel. With sexy politics. I mean, the idea is that the book is too hot to handle. Outlawed in all the Conservative States. I mean, whatever. The book will be too stupid for words, but when the time comes, when garbage like this needs to make a point. I mean, it will be ready. And Bohimal Rhabbal can roll over in his grave because of how stupid everything has become. And the Tit can finally do the profiteering that will bring it to the world stage. A "Go The Fuck To Sleep" but for people that actually care about the First Amendment.

Anyway. I don't know. Tomorrow I guess I will start scraping the house. Paying off my utility bills. It rained all day today. I didn't have it in me to fight that battle. I mean, the standing outside in the rain and scraping the side of the house battle. It is Spring now, but only kind of. We have another week before the nights don't freeze. I mean, I shut the heat off upstairs. It is still going downstairs. Pumping money into the gas company. Making me question how the world works. Wishing I wasn't broke all the time. I mean, one day when I am working at Max's in Roach Town filling bags of groceries for rich people coming in from out of state I will look back at this moment in my life and think "Why didn't I do the things I should have done that made me money?" And then Tina, the Tina that runs that store, will look over at me and say:

"Joe! Look alive!" I mean, I will stop daydreaming and go back to putting seven bottles of wine into a lousy paper bag. The customer will glare at me. Their Bluetooth in their ear. Saying:

"What was that? This idiot has no idea how to bag this wine, I got to go. I'll see you shortly. Make sure the fondue doesn't crust. Hold on, no! You idiot! Put the carboard in the bottom of the bag. Ontaria, I have to go. Look! Like this!"

And then I will say I am very sorry and I should have asked in the first place. The woman will glare at me and take the wine to her Saab. Tina will take me aside and tell me to do better. I will apologize to her too. And she will tell me I am skating on thin ice. After work I will go across the street to the apartment I rent in town and sit down in front of the flat screen television I found behind the hardware store. On the couch that smells like cats that I dragged down the alley that the Old Folks Home threw out. Because it smelled too bad. I will microwave a Tina's brand burrito. Eating it slowly. The wrapper from the burrito mocking me. And then I will spend the rest of the night drinking my homemade Ticklers wondering what Professor Curly is up to. And I will have only myself to blame.

I mean, that is too depressing to think about. I need to pull my shit together. It is supposed to be nice tomorrow. I think I will set an alarm and get to work on my future. I mean:

[Insert I Don't Wanna Go Down In The Basement Teenage Bottle Rockets]