[133] Screed City

[133]

05/04/2022 Wednesday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Fucking hell, you wait for six months for Winter to end and then it just rains and rains and rains. I turned the heat off, trying to save some dough-re-mi but then I had to turn it back on. Ugh. Vermont! It is pretty though. A herd of gooses moved into the back yard. I can see them out the kitchen window. Low hanging clouds. Mist on the hills. Green, everywhere green. I dug up some more space for the garden. I think I need to borrow a wheel burro and move some goat turds over. Mix it in. Plant some beans. I took all the sod and put it over in front of the house. I moved the flower garden. Or rearranged it. Or whatever. I made it smaller, I guess. The sod fit in perfect. Like exactly. By luck. I also went around and cut down all the sumac trees growing on the outside of the goat enclosure. They were all small. I used a scissors. Pruning sheers I guess. Then it started raining. That was yesterday. Today was just rain all day. I didn't even bother trying to do shit outside. Oh, also I did some work in the Garbage Room yesterday. Pulled the Farmers Market shit out. Dusted it off. I guess some time next week or tomorrow I will put the tent up and make sure it is ship-shape. Like the bridesmaids say.

Augustin finished the first round edit of Hilarious. [Note to self, add italics] Excited! I don't know when I will get a chance to give my own second look, but I think I can devote a day to it next week. I haven't met a single book I wrote that I couldn't edit in a single sitting. I mean, not that that makes me a good editor, probably the opposite, but I have a technique. It's called forcing myself to do it. Agatha Christie taught me that.

I am starting to get kind of nervous about the future. Work-wise. There is just so much of it coming up. I mean, I hope it forces me to change my habits. I have gone a little overboard in the perpetual writing scheme that I have carved out for myself since Summer 2020. The last good Summer. I mean, I have been incredibly productive, but so what? I don't have money. I need money. I mean, I can still write four nights a week, two for fiction and two for screeds and I think I will stay satisfied. I mean, if I could just learn to write in the daytime and maybe spend the nights trying to promote myself somehow. I mean, today I had a lot of work to do, but it was very odd work. I fried 24 eggs. For the Breakfast Bubbys. Cooked three lbs of sausage for the same reason. A full pan of tator tots. I mean, that means I can make 24 Breakfast Bubbys tomorrow and freeze them for the Saturday after next. I have three lbs of black beans soaking. I still need to figure out how I am going to make that work. Probably I will have to get up at 5a on Saturday and make 20 burritos first thing. But that means the beans will need to be finished by Friday evening at the latest. I mean, I don't know how or if I have fucked myself with this new idea. We will see. I mean, nobody really shows up to the first Farmers Market day, so I won't have to stress about it too much, but in the future. Ugh.

I also transferred 10 gallons of Ticklers from the conversion tanks to the holding tanks. I added a quarter cup of boiled raisons to each tank. Which I think is enough sugar to get them to bubble. I mean, I have a couple experimental bottles that will tell me if that is true or not. I just have to wait now. One month? Two months? How can you tell? I put the holding tanks down in the basement. I mean, unless they rot or mold or whatever, I have a nice supply for later in the Summer. My problem though is that I want to make more. I just like doing it. I am getting good at it. I mean, if these 10 gallons turn out like I want them too I might have another little side business of selling illegal hooch. Just joking. I mean, I have no plans to sell illegal booze to people. I mean, if I was smart I would just start an artisanal Hard Seltzer company and get licenses and stuff. It really is tasty junk. I just need to figure out how to put bubbles in the shit. And, I guess flavor it. Although I kind of dig the "Flavorless" variety. It is kind of like a low alcohol wine. Without the hangover and overbearing taste.

A funny thing happened when I was transferring the Ticklers though. I was very thorough. Double washed the buckets and lids. Sanitized them. Double rinsed them. Made sure that any air exposure was minimal. Cleaned the kitchen. Made sure the syphon tube was spotless. I mean, it was a real top notch operation. But still after everything was said and done I found a pubic hair on top of one of the buckets when I was done. I mean, what the hell? I mean, my hands were washed. I was wearing a hat. I hadn't used the bathroom in hours. Yet there it was. Just sitting there. Mocking me. A fucking pubic hair. Not a head hair or a curly red wire, which usually shows up all over the place. But a pubic hair. I mean, it had to have come from me. I know that. I looked like one of my own, but still. I mean, had it fallen into the tank of Ticklers the whole batch could have been ruined. I mean, that, or the secret ingredient. But still, it was very rude. I need to take special care next time. I mean, I don't know where it came from, I mean, it must have been stuck to my hoodie or something. My pants? I mean, I do need to change my elephant skins as G and Professor Curly call them. There has been a lot of dirt lately. But how a pube got involved, I don't get it. I mean, a head hair, sure, but not a pube.

I guess this California trip is actually happening. It is going to be a whirlwind. On Friday I think the plan is to go to Montpelier at around noon. Hang out for a few hours so the Publisher can do some work and then haul ass to Burlington. Get on a plane. Fly for a while. Land in Frisco, as the locals call it. Haul ass to the Air B&B. Hit the sack. Get up the next morning. Head to the book festival. Sell some books. Do some stuff. Hit the sack. Get up the next day and do more book selling. Have a reading at this cool bar that Augustin set up. Which I think needs to end at 8p. Hang out a little bit longer. Head to the airport. Fly back to Vermont overnight. Get to Burlington. I guess Scott would pick us up. And that will be that. I mean, there is also the idea that we drive two cars to the airport. Scott gets back to Vermont from Florida, I think. He takes their car. We park Junior Mint. Do the trip. And then on Monday morning we drive JM back. Either way is fine by me. I guess it depends on scheduling. I mean, after that it is hitting the ground running. I have beans to cook. Work to do. I mean, I expect a kind of shit show of a week. There is just too much to do and not enough time. The last Donkey [Italics] serial to do. To print and make. Which I can do on Sunday. Shit, I need to finish that edit. Fuck, I can do that tomorrow. I also need to figure out if I need to get more covers printed. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow. I mean, I can pick up the covers on Friday if need be. While the Publisher is working. Leave them in the car. For Ron. Later Ron.

I mean, that is just the start. The Big Boss from BMI has been trying to recruit me for "Out Of Town" work, or so he calls it. Monday travel and Friday travel. Probably in Buffalo or something. Which, I am not against. In theory. I mean, no, I don't want to do it, but the money will be good and lord knows I need the money. But this work on Beaver Haus that I can't seem to do because of weather. Work on the New House at the Compound. Work in Portland at the Brewery. And the Farmers Market. And hopefully G will come stay with me when school gets out on like June 4th. But that is still up in the air. And all the baking I should be doing. And the burritos. And Donkey [Italics] BOT [Book On Tape.] And Hilarious [Italics.] And the screeds. How will I find the time to screed? And Sugar Beets [Italics] [Working title] [Do you italicize a working title?] And Wagon Boi [Italics] [Working title] [Do you italicize a working title?] I mean, as far as Ticklers are concerned I am golden so I can check that off of my list. But now that the conversion tanks are empty I kind of want to start another 12 gallons just because I can. I mean, mostly because I want to push the yeast to the limits. See what they can handle. They say you should change the yeast out after 5 or 6 cycles, but is that true if you are just making Ticklers? I mean, maybe it will be good for the flavors to keep reusing the yeast. Like my personal flavoring brand will be from these very specific yeasts? Like people in the future will be like "Whoa, you got a Fun Bunz Tickler vibe going on with that Hard Seltzer of yours. How did you do that? Are they selling yeast now?" I mean, not to me, but to whoever is making the other Ticklers. I mean, as long as the stuff doesn't taste like my first batch which was from Turbo Yeast. Which, I mean, I hope I threw that stuff out. Or at least labeled it. But I don't think I did. Maybe I used it all? I hope so. I mean, I have three yeasts in the fridge right now. Two of them I know exactly what they are. The third, not so much. I mean, I am not worried about using the wrong sort of yeast for the Ticklers. That stuff is very apparent, but the Turbo Yeast looks a lot like the shitty bread yeast that I bought on accident. I mean, I guess I just solved my own mystery. I should get rid of the yeast that seems suspect. But I don't think I have it in me to throw out a lb of yeast. Even if it is junk. I mean, fucking hell. Professor Curly thinks I hoard food things. Which I do. I won't lie. But I do it for a reason. Too many years of starving to death is what did it to me. I mean, when the end days come and I have a shit load of flour and no yeast and I think back to the Spring of 2022 when I had a lb of yeast that I just threw into the compost just because it was confusing my yeast uses, I mean, even if the bread is crap from that yeast, crap yeast is better than no yeast. I mean, even if in those same end times I wanted to make booze and I had no yeast, this crap yeast would make booze. Even if the booze is crap. Crap booze is better than no booze, am I right?

I mean, I don't know. Tomorrow is game day. As the bridesmaids say. I need to bake a bunch of Bubbys. Clean the house from top to bottom. Get packed. Maybe start some new Ticklers. I mean, I should have done that today if I am being honest. It takes a couple days to make sure that the yeast is doing it's work. And if you leave for four days and there is nothing happening when you left and nothing happening when you get back there is no way to tell if the shit had done it's job. You catch my drift? I mean, Schrodinger’s Tickler as the scientists say. The theoretical physicists. You never know if a Tickler will tickle or not until you remove the lid and have a tasty slurp. I mean, whatever. If you do that and the shit is just sugar water you will know. At that point you just add more yeast and wait another week. Like, whatever. But still. Having a bucket of sugar water just sitting around for a week and then adding a bunch of fresh yeast to it is probably not a very good recipe for success. But you never know. It is like the pube from before. It could be the secret ingredient all along. Like the mold and the whatever else, I mean, what happens when you leave sugary things alone for a while without outside influence? I mean, I made a simple syrup last Summer that is still good. I mean, as long as it isn't exposed to air. But even that, I mean, it seems to me that things mold if sugar is involved. They either mold or crystalize. Maybe both. And maybe if the yeast have to chew at chunks of crystalized sugar and mold they will do something special. Like making cheese or something. I mean, what if one day I open one of those buckets and there is something new that nobody has ever eaten before. Like a cheese/syrup blend that you can drizzle on top of a hot dog? And that is what I sell at the Farmers Market? Vermont-style Tickler Cheeze Dripped Hot Dogs. People would come from miles around just to get a taste. Fun Bunz Dripplers I would call them. Make exactly one million dollars. And then get sued for exactly one million dollars. When they do a class action against me.

At that point though I would rebrand and start calling my hot dogs What'd I do? Dogs. And then this time I will make two million dollars. But they will just be hot dogs with queso. And I will wear shades so nobody knows I was the Fun Bunz Dripplers dude. I mean, win-win.

I don't remember the last time I was on a plane. I won't lie, no thanks. I really did hope the Pandemic would put an end to such travel. I mean, I am not serious. Or, I am serious, but in the sense that "Man, I hope I never have to get onto an airplane again because of this Pandemic." way. I knew it was coming. I mean, I think the last time was going to Wyoming in 2019? I don't think me and Professor Curly went anywhere that Fall or Winter or Spring. I mean, I am sure Professor Curly did. That maniac flies all over the place all the time. I mean, the last time we went to Wyoming we drove out and she flew back. But for me, I guess. It has been nearly three years. Fuck. I don't even know how to do it anymore. I mean, I guess I need to buy new toothpaste. Can you take pain killers on planes anymore? Like ibuprofen? Do I need to only take like 10 pills? I mean, I know luggage is a no-no. But we are only going for three nights. Basically. I can pack socks and some shirts and my computer. A toothbrush. Maybe a zip lock filled with toothpaste? 10 pain pills just in case. A book. I mean, it just sounds so awful. The mask mandates are gone. Which, I mean, what we know now, after all of this fucking shit, I mean, masks should be enforced in non-Pandemic times. it probably would have prevented the fucking Pandemic in the first place. And not only that, but all the fucking farts you have to suck up your nose when you are flying. The other disgusting smells and disease that these animals are spewing out at all times. I mean, that last time I was in the City I hated wearing a mask, but on the subway, always. Mass transit is where people go to spread germs and fart in your face. Airplanes included. I mean, we are cattle. It is what it is. But still, if you are just going to cram us into tight spaces because we are poor and NEED to get somewhere, at least make it so we don't have to suck buttholes up our noses and get colds that we carry home to everyone else. I mean, I don't mean this for real, but still, I kind of wish I had something wrong with me so I could just say "You know what? It isn't worth the risk." And then never get onto another airplane for the rest of my fucking life. I mean, Capitalism really did a number on us that we all agree to this misery just for the sake of "Convenience." And then they charge us up the nose to keep their Ponzi Scheme going. I mean, you understand the Government keeps these fucking companies from going out of business, right? That there is no business model that even Einstein himself would make them profitable? And the reason that they nickel and dime us is because the fucking Stock Market? Because they have a Governmental dictate that tells them that they have to make a profit even though they rely on the Government to keep them in business? I mean, isn't that fucked? That they get tax dollars, these airlines, they take "Our" money and then transfer the costs onto "Us?" And if you are rich enough you don't get crammed into the airplane like everyone else. Why? Because you pay less taxes? I mean, I kind of wish I had never been to Norway because for years I went over there and I saw how they treated the rich. And guess what? It is not like here. First Class just means you get on the plane first and off the plane first. There is no lavish giant seats with extending foot rests and champagne and elbow room. It is the same crappy seat, just in the front of the plane instead of the back. And guess what? They pay for it the same way as the rich do in America, but it means almost nothing. I mean, I know this because the only time I have ever flown First Class was over there. And it was an accident. That was the only ticket available. I mean, whatever. How did we get to this rant? I was just lamenting how I was not prepared to fly and now we are here? All I am saying is that I am not looking forward to flying on Friday. I guess I can wear a mask myself. Keep the farts at the fabric as the bridesmaids say. But I am sure it will suck. One day, we will understand that air travel isn't some luxury for the working class. That it is essential. That we can't use a class system to delineate who is miserable and who is less miserable. I mean, I still think about the time I saw Al Sharpton riding on the back of one of those golf carts for the airport in La Guardia. I mean, sure, he is very famous, but what the fuck? And I don't mean that in a civil rights kind of way, I just think it is insane that there is even an option for better treatment at airports. I mean, it is essentially a new and unregulated Society that if free from the scrutiny that it deserves. And you and me and everyone we know are paying out the ass just to keep it going and yet here we are, anyone that has a tiny bit of clout gets a better deal than we do. Just saying. I mean, money is money. Everyone likes money. And maybe Al had a bum knee or something. But he did seem to enjoy the ride he got. I mean, I really don't hold it against him. That cool ride. I would take it to. But at that moment, seeing it, I won't say I liked it. But then again you do see other people getting driven around that are not famous. So, who knows? I mean, whatever. I saw him on the television not two days later and he was not dealing with a sprained ankle, or whatever. But still. At least it wasn't Ashton Kutcher or something. I mean, Al Sharpton did seem to be having a good time. So maybe it was just whatever. But still. I wish I hadn't seen it. I would have rather ran into him at the conveyor belts while taking off my shoes and belt instead. I mean, behind me. Yelling at the TSA employees. Saying "Oh, hell no! This is a voilation of my rights right here! I demand you show me where it says I should be subjected to this obvious abuse of power!" And then everyone would clap. And he would be taken aside and fight the good fight. Instead he was just cruising by. Having a lark with the driver. Asking if the Shake Shack was still open. Or whatever. I mean, fucking 9/11. Fucking Bush. And because of that. We got about 50% of the population that refuses to wear a mask because of Freedems and that same 50% wants the Patriot Act because of what? Brown people that don't pray to Jesus. And here we are. Two hours, three hours, showing up to the airport before our flights because we might have a fucking water bottle in our bag? I mean, the Underwear Bomber was back in 2009! Thirteen fucking years ago. Fucking hell.

I mean, don't get me started. Am I right? It's not politics if I give shit to Al Sharpton, right? I mean, whatever. I am out of here. I have a bunch more to say, but I shouldn't. Let's end with a cool song and you can forget the last thing I said.

[Insert Night Of The Living RedNecks By Dead Kennedys]