[139] Screed City

[139]

05/14/2022 Saturday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Well, okay. Now that we are caught up with San Francisco trip I get back to my schedule. I mean, that doesn't mean I won't screed tonight. I have business to attend to. A very important development that will have lasting implications. The Farmers Market started today, and boy are my farms tired. I mean, that joke was not as good as the Everest joke from last night, but, I mean, that joke really threw the gauntlet down. Am I right? I mean, I woke up laughing about my own joke. I mean, I think I could do a five minute stand-up thing on that alone. Not to toot my own artisanal horn. But the Sherpa! HAHA. Anyhoodles. I mean, I got up at 5a this morning. Which is whatever, but after all that driving to and from Buffalo plus the 5a day on Friday. I mean, I am just not a six hours of sleep a night kind of guy. My brain craters and I find myself forgetting words and spacing out. Which would be cool if I was a stoner, but being high-strung and kind of manic, I mean, it just makes me lazy. Butwhatever, I will recover, I am not worried about it.

I mean, I got up at 5a. Rude awakening. Very confusing. Deep, deep sleep. Then that alarm. I tried to negotiate with myself to stay a few more minutes in bed, but then I just couldn't justify it. There was too many uncertain things and a bunch of work to get done. I got up and went downstairs. Started the electric kettle. Got a very large pot and put the black beans I had been thawing over night inside. They were still frozen in the middle. I suppose I should have learned a lesson from this, but it turns out I don't need to. I mean, hold on, I am getting ahead of myself. The beans were still frozen. There were two jars of bean juice that I thawed out as well. I mean, it turns out that one of the bean juices was not bean juice at all. It was different stock entirely. I mean, I would have panicked, but because I had planned for this sort of shit, I was up early enough to deal with it. I put the other stock back in the freezer and took out the jar labeled very clearly "Bean Juice." I mean, I put it in the microwave. Hit one minute on the thing. Poured the other bean juice in with the half-frozen beans. Put some water in the jar and poured that over the beans as well. I lit the burner. Set it to high. And covered the pot. By now the microwave dinged. I took a look-see. Still frozen. I hit another minute. Started getting the coffee dripper ready for the hot and juicy water that was kettling. The dinger went off again. I checked. Still frozen. I hit the two minute button. I mean, at this point I was just kind of waiting around so I put this podcast thing I like to listen to on Saturday on. A real comedy yuck-about that is mostly politics. But funny politics. Funny politics that doesn't make me feel insane. Like I am not alone in my thinking kind of show. And it is genuinely funny. I mean, TMI, but they call that a Mood Setter in the screed game. The water finally boiled. I poured some of the hot and juicy stuff over the dripper. Checked on the Breakfast Bubbys. They seemed cold, but not frozen. I took them out of the freezer when I took the beans out last night around 10p. Which was too late for my taste, but in my defense I totally forgot to do this when I got home from driving for seven hours and then writing like the wind to finish that five part series about going to San Francisco. I mean, I may be lazy, but I am no slouch.

I will say though, after writing last night. I looked at the clock. It was after 11p. I sighed. I knew that was too late. I should have been in bed hours ago. But I wasn't. I locked the front door. Turned off the lights. I went upstairs. Brushed my teeth. Filled the glass of water that I keep next to the bed, on the night stand. Put it back. And then sighed again. I had forgotten to take the tortillas out of the freezer. I went back downstairs. Turned the lights on. Unlocked the door. Went outside to the Garbage Room and grabbed three bags of 10 inch tortillas. Brought them inside. Locked the door. Put the tortillas on the dining room table. Turned the lights back off. Went upstairs and undressed. Got into bed. Turned the moose documentary on and then it was lights out. I mean, I really think this thing is great. I will add it here in case anyone wants to see it. It doesn't have commercials for some reason and it really is very bizarre. I highly recommend watching it. If you want to see how the Russians milk moose for medicine reasons.

[Insert Moose Doc.]

I mean, the microwave dinged again. This time the thing was more thawed. Thawed enough that I could dump the contents into the very large pot. I mean, now there was an iceberg of frozen beans and an iceberg of frozen bean juice, but the other liquid was already bubbling. Boiling as it were. I put the lid back on. Finished making coffee. Listening to my Saturday politics yuck-up. I arranged the Breakfast Bubbys in one of the chafing dishes. I could only fit 18 of them on the inside. I put the lid on and put the remaining two on the top of the lid. It was now about 530a. I still was doing good on time. I moved the coffee dripper thing to a new cup and poured hot and juicy water over the grounds again. I took the full cup of fresh brewed coffee and added some milk. I noticed I was almost out of milk so I opened the things drawer and took a marker out. I wrote "Milk" on the back of my hand. I could get milk after the market. This would help me remember. I mean, maybe that is obvious, but still, sometimes you do stuff without really thinking about and then you get back home and look at your hand and are all like "God-damn-it! I forgot milk!" I mean, I told myself to remember that I wrote "Milk" on my hand.

I drank some coffee and checked my electronic mails. I mean, the word of the day was "Verdant." And then the solution to the word game was "Verdure." Which means, the greenness of growing vegetation. That was alright. I don't think I have ever used that word in my writing or speaking. I mean, it is nice to learn new things. I think after that I checked the news. I don't really remember. I was distracted by the listening thing I was doing. I mean, I do remember thinking "What the fuck am I doing? This is no time for this nonsense." I mean, I guess I was just double-checking that nobody got nuked over-night or something. I mean, the way I deal with news these days is kind of an askance thing. There are just too many filters in my brain I have to run through before I can even get a single honest understanding from anything that it is really very exhausting. And since my life has been ruined. Since I can't catch a break. Against all odds, I mean, none of you jerks let me talk politics anymore, what is the point? I should just curl up in a musty hole and cry myself to sleep. I mean, shit, that just reminded me I need to set a day aside this week to do a Hilarious [Italics] edit. Keep moving forward. Because now is the time.

I mean, the beans came to a boil. I turned to burner down to low. I put the tortilla skillet on the burner next to the beans. I lit the burner. Turned it to medium heat and waited. I gathered the tortillas from the dining room table. They were thawed. I mean, tortillas thaw quick. But I was glad I had remembered to do this last night. Otherwise things would have turned into a shit-show PDQ. Pretty Damn Quick. I mean, I made some space next to the big pot of boiling beans. I put the tin foil squares next to the tortillas. I put a wooden cutting board down. The big one. I turned the burner off to the tortilla skillet. I was getting ahead of myself. I went upstairs and made the bed. Taking my computer with me. Listening to my Saturday politics yuck-up. I got naked. Took the computer and my naked body into the bathroom. Started the shower. Let it run for a bit. Got inside. Did the normal stuff. I mean, I got real clean. Brushed my teeth. While in the shower. Put the toothbrush back. Washed my face. Turned the water off. Got out. Dried myself real good. Went back to the bedroom. Found my Cubby Bubby shirt. Put some socks on. Found a decent pair of black pants to wear. The grease and goat shit elephant skins would not do. Not for today. I needed to look halfway presentable. Not sketchy as hell, like normal. I mean, I put the pants on. Transferred my belt. Looked in the mirror. Got sad. I mean, the problem with middle age is that you are coming down from being young, but you aren't exactly old just yet. Which, I mean, life, is all I can say about that. I don't mean to age-shame anyone, but when you reach your mid-40's you kind of have a couple options. Either let it ride, or fight like hell. I mean, I am still in the fight like hell phase, but at the same time I find myself driving like 14 hours in two days and getting up at stupid hours, while at the same time feeling incredibly broke and wondering what the hell I can ever do to make my life better. I mean, my point is that even if you look at yourself in the mirror and know, KNOW, that you can take steps to get back into fighting shape, the weight of the world is always going to be there. So it becomes either a moment of desperation and maniacal focus, or you just kind of say "Well, I guess this is just what I look like now. What can you do?" I mean, I am not there yet, but sometimes when I am very tired and just wish I was rich and didn't have to actually do anything, I mean, maybe I get a personal trainer and pretend I am preparing for a movie or something. I mean, wouldn't that solve all of my problems? If I lost about 12 lbs? Maybe 20? Added four inches to my dick. Got ripped like some super buff California-type that thought they looked young, but really just looked like they were absolutely terrified of dying? I mean, it is a tough balance to do. I mean, there is still time. I can stop going down hill, but I need to accept that I am not ever going to be 26 ever again. I mean, life, right? You're living it. As Jaker's used to say. Then he would go back to his room and pump iron for an hour and then come out and say "I can't get any stronger." I then I would just shake my head. Because strength and lifting weights are two different things. There are muscles, and there are theater muscles. I have muscles. Pumping iron gives you theater muscles. But how did I get dragged down what it means to be working class again? Oh, right, I mean, I didn't like what I saw in the mirror, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I had work to do. I could be vain later.

I went downstairs. Taking my computer with me. The Saturday political yuck-up still going. I put the computer on top of the microwave. I turned the burner back on for the tortilla skillet. Lit it. I mean, that fucking thing. The right burner on my stove-top. It really is the worst. I don't know if it will start of not. Light or not. And then half of the time BOOM! Flames everywhere. Then the other half of the time I have to use a lighter. Which also ends in a boom. But not the same kind of boom. I mean, I drank some more coffee. Made sure the beans were nice and hot. Turned that burner off. Turned the oven on. To pre-heat it. 350F. For the Breakfast Bubbys. I mean, I knew I had 30 minutes at this point before the oven would be ready. It was now 6a. I made sure I had enough hot sauce. That my work station was clean and ready. I put an apron on. The skillet was now hot. I mean, I started making burritos. Using this slotted scooper that I bought a while ago just for moments like this. I mean, I made a burrito. First I heated the tortilla until it was hot on both sides. I put it on the cutting board. I scooped two scoops of beans. Drizzled a little hot sauce. Rolled the thing up. Took a square of tinfoil from the tinfoil box. Put it down. Wrapped the thing in the tinfoil. I put it to the side. After I did the first one I realized I need a place to put these things so I got the other chafing dish and moved the dish drying wrack. Put the chafing dish where that once was and proceeded to make 20 burritos. I mean, halfway through I decided to make six of them without hot sauce. Just in case kids came around and wanted a burrito. I mean, even the smallest amount of spice makes those jerks go crazy. They are all like "Oh, mamma! This burrito is a hot one! I can't manage to chomp it down. No, mamma! Ye-ouch!" And then the moms look at me like I just punched their kid. I mean, I have insurance, but still, moms of the world are pretty precious with the kids of theirs. For some reason.

After I made all the burritos the stove was ready. It told me so much. I waited a few more minutes because my oven lies to me. I mean, when it says it is at temperature it doesn't mean it. It just means that part of the oven is as hot as I asked. The other parts, like most of them, still need a few moments to catch up. I mean, such is learning. Living. Loving. I mean, eventually I put the Breakfast Bubbys in the oven. Set the timer for 30 minutes from now. Which would put me on track to be finished with everything by 7a. Which was good. I needed to get on the road by 730a. I mean, at this point I went outside to get Junior Mint ready for the haul. I had to deal with all sorts of my own shit that had accrued in the last few weeks. Which, whatever, I mean, I need to get better at dealing with my stuff as it comes. Like, I don't know, cleaning out my car when I need as much space as I can get. I mean, I moved a bunch of shit into the Garbage Room. Fed the goats. Moved a bunch of shit to the car. The folding tables. The chalk board. I mean, I went back inside and took a look around. Trying to remember what I needed. I mean, the last time I had done a Farmers Market was mid-October of last year. That is over seven months ago. All I had to go on was my memory. And my memory, while really good for some things, really sucks for other things. I mean, I understood this. Which is why I gave myself so much time this morning. But still, you can't win all the fights. I mean, I started moving shit to the trunk. The plastic bin that had all the incidentals. The chalk and pens and plastic food gloves and such. Then I moved the soft goods out. Then the bucket for trash. The sign on a spring that says "Food." I mean, I even remembered to bring the penguin paper towel holder that Tom gave me almost a decade ago at this point. I mean, I was on top of my shit.

I mean, time went by pretty slowly. I was wearing an apron. I had my Cubby Bubby t-shirt on. I had the thing for money. The swiper. For credit cards. I had change in cash for people buying stuff in cash. I got a thing of coffee ready for the road. Some water to drink. I boiled some water for the chafing dishes. Both in the kettle and the electric kettle. I mean, I was doing great. I put the banner in the car. I made sure I had heating fuel. Liquid Heat. Sterno. I mean, I was very much on top of my game. The Breakfast Bubbys finished re-heating. I took them out. Put them in the chafing dish. With boiled water underneath. I lit a couple Sterno things to keep them warm. I did the same with the burritos. I mean, I was doing a great job. There was nothing standing in my way. At some point I got out of the door. I double checked everything. I mean, I had everything. I had the sign and the tables and the bin and chafing dishes and soft goods, the table covers, I mean, I wasn't missing shit. I was proud of myself. I mean, I don't even know, I was way ahead of schedule. The day would be what it was, but I was ready. I brushed my teeth a second time. Made sure nothing was still on. Like the stove or the lights or whatever. I got into the car. Backed up. Turned down the road and hit the skids as the bridesmaids say.

I mean, I got halfway through the canyon when a thought occurred to me "That was too easy." Packing the trunk. Last year it was a pain in the ass, why was it so easy this time? I mean, I kept driving. Trying to push the thought out of my mind. But somewhere around where the "Look for Moose" signs start it dawned on me. I forgot the fucking tent. Of all things. Forgetting the tent was akin to forgetting the food. The Cubby Bubbys. I mean, there was no booth without a booth. I pulled over and turned around. Hauling ass. Doing time math. I needed to be in Waitsfield by 830a at the latest. It was now 740a. I was 10 minutes past leaving. 10 minutes back to where I was. I mean, combine that with the 20 minutes left to drive. I would be lucky to get to the market by 820a. Not good. It was going to be a madhouse. I mean, I just lost 20 minutes because of this idiocy. I mean, I hauled ass as fast as I could. Got back to Beaver Haus. Ran into the Garbage Room. Grabbed the tent. Threw it into the back seat. Where the chafing dishes were. I mean, I was lucky I didn't knock them over. But I didn't. I mean, in seconds I was back on the road. Driving 20 miles an hour over the speed limit. I mean, I had to force myself to slow down. The stakes were not that high. I didn't need to get in a crash or get pulled over. I mean, it was just a fucking Farmers Market. But still. I drove fast. Too fast. I mean, luckily I was forced to slow down because I caught up to another car. Who was having a nice look-around because they were going 10 miles per hour under the speed limit. I mean, whatever. I passed them when I got the chance. Then it happened again with another tourist. Then I passed them. Then it happened again. Then I passed them. I mean, I don't ever drive like this, so it was kind of fun, but then again I kept thinking a cop would catch me, or I would do something stupid, so I really did force myself to slow down. I mean, I got to the Farmers Market in record time. And in a sense of stupid irony there was no reason that I should have sped to get there. I mean, half of the vendors didn't even bother showing up. The First Market of the year is kind of just a hang out and see what shakes loose kind of thing. Like a bear coming out of hibernation. I mean, I there was plenty of parking. Nobody was in a hurry. I could have showed up at 9a and nobody would have cared. But there I was. Early like always. Even though I was 20 minutes late.

I mean, I unpacked Junior Mint with aplomb. The verdure of the market's trees were very pleasant. I mean, it was hot already, like 75F. I mean, it was going to be a hot day. But it was still Spring. I mean, mid-May. So the leaves on the trees were just sprouting. I mean, I did the things I remembered doing last Fall. Setting up. I said hello to the artisanal cutting board guy, Jarod. Who, I won't lie, I am very fond of. He is on the Donkey [Italics] mailing list. He is very old-school man-splainy, but at the same time he is very charming and smart, actually. With a sense of humor. I mean, he was already set up. Also, the CBD oil gal that was always there last time was there. I mean, I feel bad that I don't know her name, but I don't. She doesn't really talk to me. Or, I mean, last time, last market, last Summer, she didn't. I mean, she was the one that I saw her naked vagina that one time. When it blew my mind. I mean, seeing a naked vagina in the wild like that? I mean, who wears a skirt to a Farmers Market and then doesn't wear panties and then has to do a bunch of bending over and squatting? I mean, that is insane, right? I mean, I am a feminist to the max, but that is like something beyond feminism. That edges into exhibitionism right there. Butwhatever. I unloaded the car. Unfolded a table and lit some fires under the chafing dishes. I mean, to keep the goods warm. Then I went and parked the car. Nearby, because parking was great. There was nobody around. I mean, lucky me, I guess.

I mean, I set the booth up like last time. Three tables. In the shape of an "L." The lower jaunt of the "L" is where I put goods. I mean, I had to set the tent up first. Which, I mean, I told Jarod about how I had forgotten the tent and he couldn't believe it. Of all things to forget. I mean, it really was dumb. I mean, I hung the banner. I laid out the table covers. I wrote the words "Breakfast Bubby $6" and "Bean Burrito $4." In chalk on the sandwich board. I even described the things on the dry-erase board. And hung that from the front of the tent. I mean, I was in no hurry at this point. I never should have ever been in a hurry. There was no reason. I mean, I hung a shirt above the chafing dishes. For looks. I mean, I should sell the things, but nobody wants to buy them. Although, some youngster at some point came by and saw the shirt I was wearing and said "Is that your logo?" I said it was. He said "That is so cool." I mean, kids these days. Was he being ironic? I mean, I like the logo. Butwhatever.

[Insert Cubby Bubby logo]

I mean, the day went by like what it was going to go by as. People came around. Bought stuff to eat. Mostly Breakfast Bubbys. I had some hot sauce that I brought that was kind of a big hit. I mean, homemade. I need to keep working on that. I mean, I watched Abbie floating around. The MC of the thing. I still don't know if she had a baby or not. She didn't have the baby with her if she did. I mean, I won't lie, I was looking for tell-tale signs about this. From her. But I got nowhere. My speculation seemed to odd to ask. I mean, I wanted to ask her "Hi, Abbie, how was your Winter?" That is what people say to each other at these things, I guess. It is a little like "Thanks for the last time." As the Norse's say. Like "Takk for sist." I mean, it has been seven months since I had seen any of these goons. And six of those months were pure torture. I mean, after she answered that question I was going to ask "Anything big happen over the Winter?" But I never go the chance. She was too busy. And, I mean, the reason I think she had a baby is because last Fall, like the end of September, she started getting all this acne. Then she started eating all sorts of food. Which was not normal for her, I mean, from what I had seen. And, I mean, she never struck me as somebody that was particularly moody, so it was odd that she was putting on weight. I mean, just saying that now makes me feel like an asshole, but still! I mean, aside from maybe getting put on medication, the only other option is pregnancy, right? I mean, how can I ask? I can't! Nor should I even care! But still, I mean, fuck, if it is just that she has new medication that is fucking with her body I am going to feel like a total asshole. I mean, I swear it is not body shaming or mental health shaming I am doing! I really do think she had a baby, but there is no way to find out aside from seeing the baby! I mean, if it is the other thing I should just dig that musty hole I was talking about before and go right back to sleep until forever, because I am just a dick. I mean, Occam's Razor has nothing on Society. What you think you know, you don't. And you should keep your mouth shut about it anyway, because people have very delicate lives. And who am I to know what travails anyone is going through? They are personal, and none of my business. But still! I really want to know. And now I am worried about what the truth is, because on one hand, my secret sense that allows me to see things different than other people, I mean, it is possible that it is basically just the male gaze on Society. And if that is true, I still have a lot of learning to do. But on the other hand, if I am right, my ego won't stand it. I mean, if that makes sense. I mean, I am an asshole either way. That, I can accept. But, really, or frankly, if Abbie is in distress I would like to help somehow. Not that there is anything I can really do, but still, being aware of things sometimes helps. Even if it only means just not saying something stupid. Which, I mean, Jarod is great, but he says some pretty stupid stuff sometimes. I mean, he is the kind of guy that thinks Trans things can just be solved with changing the nature of speech. Like if we stop having a gender binary pronoun language we will somehow give the oppressed rights even though it does nothing to address the actual problem. I mean, the "Can't we all just get along?" trope. Where legal discrimination is just a feeling, man. "Why not just use single-person bathrooms, right?" I mean, I won't lie, I was there about a decade ago, but that was because I was an idiot. I mean, Jarod, bless his heart, but he doesn't know shit. And here I am wondering about Abbie and her maybe baby. I just need to let it go. But still! I will feel like a complete jack-ass if it is just medication, but what if I am right and there is a baby? The world is too confusing for words! Can't something just be simple for once? I mean, I am just joking. If I have to live the rest of my life being confused as fuck, so what? That is a very small price to pay. But I won't lie, I am going to figure this mystery out. And maybe I will tell you, or maybe I won't because it is none of my god-damned business either way, but I will get to the bottom of it. Or I won't.

I mean, I won't lie, the Farmers Market was great today. I sold 17 Breakfast Bubbys and four bean burritos. I mean, that puts the nail in the burrito coffin. I mean, shit. I have lbs of dry beans and stacks of flour tortillas that are just bunk now. How crazy is that? Dead out of the gate. I mean, as time went by it became very apparent that nobody was interested in the burritos. Not that there was a reason for it. Just that nobody wanted them. I mean, two people came up to me after eating a Breakfast Bubby and said "Hats off to the chef!" But the burritos. I mean, nothing doing. And as much as I want to say that they didn't get a fair shake, it wasn't that at all. Nobody needed them. The other place, the place with the Vermont-style "Mexican" food has a pretty tight handle on these things. Even though they are milquetoast and kind of gross. I mean, a mild salsa combined with and undercooked, under seasoned bean burrito or tamale really hits the spot for some of these gourmands. I mean, I can't compete with the usual comforts. I will just need to rake the market with my own version of new foods. I mean, show up every weekend. Bringing my A-game. I mean, the problem with all of the other Boothers is that they are lazy and full of inertia. The one thing I have going for me is that I can do whatever the fuck I want to do. And if that means a queso squirted Cubby Bubby, so be it.

I mean, the time wound down and the market became bare. Around 1p everyone started to break down. There was no reason to continue. I mean, I blew out the gas and put x's on the lids. That way I would know that they had been used. I mean, I broke down myself. Went to get Junior Mint. Drove over and parked nearby. Next to the other Boothers trucks and things. I mean, it took me a few trips and this time I remembered about the tent, how it should go in the trunk. I mean, things went right back to normal. All these months later. The exact same thing. Making a little over $100 bucks for a days work. I mean, such is business. I will get them. You'll see. That, or I will die trying. I mean, I really do enjoy the experience. Even if I am not the best at it, or even have the best things to offer, but you will see. I will get ahead. And then nothing will stop me. I will retire on $300 dollars a week. Lift weights on the week days. Actually get stronger. I mean, I still have plans for the radio station, and the running race and losing the lbs that have hung onto me like American laziness. I mean, if I wasn't so lazy I would be a millionaire by now. My bootstraps must be dusty. I really should be ashamed of myself. I mean, I maybe broke even today. Probably actually made money. Butwhatever. After I packed Junior Mint to the gills I looked at my hand and sighed. "Milk." I mean, since I was in town, I went over to the Shaw's and bought some milk. I mean, I have a few days to figure some shit out. Nothing is pressing and the stakes are incredibly low. But still. I mean, there was a crazy rain storm as I was driving back to Granville, I mean, it was lucky it didn't happen during the market. I mean, I saw a bunch of half-naked youngsters on the road as I was driving. Summer is already here. I mean, I should probably just sell hot dogs. You can never go wrong with hot dogs. I know this because Jarod told me this. And if you can't take advice from a Cis White Guy from the middle of Vermont, who the hell can you take advice from? I mean, he is not wrong, but still.