[172] Screed City

[172]

07/31/2022 Sunday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Farmers Market Week Twelve:

I mean, success? For the most part, yes. But did I learn anything? Maybe. I mean, the morning was fine. I did the normal business. Got up at 5a. Was preheating the oven by 5:40a. After eating a steak taco and a black bean taco, both on corn tortillas. I drank some coffee. Took a shower. Made the bed et cetera, et al. I mean, the night had cooled off something heavy. Which, normally that would have been good, except the Cubby Bubbys didn't thaw right. And, I mean, this is something I should have learned ages ago, you should put the Breakfast Bubbys in the oven first. That way they get the longest time on heat before the market opens. Meaning they will be the warmest of all the Bubbys. I did not do this. I put them in last. My thinking was thus: They are the least dense, therefore they need the least amount of heat to begin with. Alas, I forgot to account for the fact that everything was not properly thawed and the night was cold. The windows open. I mean, also, the day was windy. I mean, I got out the door by 7:08a. Later than I meant to, but I had to do some packing for the City, so I needed a few extra minutes that I didn't take during the initial process in the morning, so when it was time to pack it was also the time to start loading the car. I mean, I left a little late, but so what? I had plenty of time.

I got to the market. Parked. Unloaded the things. Got the flames going. Unloaded the other things. Like I said, it was windy. So the heat wasn't going so good. Either way, I drove Junior Mint to the gas station to get gas. Then I parked. Then I went back and made up the booth. Things were normal. The Putin of Gluten wasn't hungover. His booth was in the right spot. I mean, I set up real good and then, because I was nervous, I tested the heat on the Breakfast Bubbys. It was not good. I had to do a burner maneuver to get the water bottom on the Breakfast Bubby chafing dish hotter. After that I kind of prayed that no one would show up for an hour. Which, I mean, there was no costumers until 9:38a. So that was good. And it seemed like things were fine because the guy that bought the first one, the first Breakfast Bubby came back with his girlfriend, and she bought one. I mean, who the hell knows? I mean, they are tasty, so maybe the fact that they weren't peak hotness didn't really matter. You know what I mean? I mean, whatever. All my worrying was for nothing. I mean, I sold 23 Breakfast Bubbys by 11a. Then there was two left. Which finally sold around 11:30a. And then it was all GF Bubbys, Cubby Bubbys, Veggie Bubbys and Hammy Bubbys. I mean, the Hammy Bubbys sold pretty fast. All five of them. I think I can do more of them. Like 10 if I want to. I guess. I mean, I think they are perfect for the ficklest of fickle dickweeds that come around. Like the kids and the weirdos that are scared of their own shadows. I mean, it's like adding a kid's menu.

Butwhatever. I mean, I named them Hammy Bubbys for a reason. Because I wanted to hear someone say: "Hammy Bubby." But nobody said: "Hammy Bubby." They only called them: "The ham and cheese one." I mean, I almost said: "I will sell you the thing, but you have to call it a Hammy Bubby." But I wasn't in the mood for torturing people. Even if they deserved it. I mean, I think these fools love the abuse. The meaner I am, the more I stand there with my arms folded, glaring at them, the more they come to the booth, begging for abuse. I mean, on two separate occasions, when people came to the booth and couldn't decide, I said: "You'll be back. And I will be right here." And both times they came back. I mean, I think I am selling an experience more than a product. And those idiots just love it.

I mean, nothing really happened. Aside from it being windy. I mean, I wore a button-up sleeved shirt the whole time because it was chilly. The UpSkirter didn't show up. Her assitant did. Who, I mean, her mom showed up, her dad too. At one point I heard her complain about her arthritis. Which, I mean, I feel bad for being entertained by such things, but it is a pretty funny job when what you are doing is selling cbd ointments at a farmers market and you need both your parents to help you do the job because you have 19 year old arthritis? I mean, I am not saying she is not suffering from arthritis, I mean, that stuff is real. The pain and the inability to do things, I mean, our bodies suck, but there is a difference between suffering in the world and having your parents do your job for you because you can't actually do it yourself, and when the job is selling tinctures of oils infused with cbd? I mean, if the parents were just there to help set up and break down because that is too hard for you, sure, but when they hang around the entire day, the four hours of actual work-time? That is coddling to me. And, I mean, I don't know what this girl has gone through in her life, what the other moments of her life are like, but what really entertains me, is the idea that the UpSkirter didn't just hire this poor teenager, old beyond her years, but also her dad and her mom. I mean, if it was me, that would make me too nervous to relax. Knowing that a very simple job that barely takes one person to do, is now farmed out to three people that seem very odd, and also seem to have a very slippery grasp on reality. I mean, I would be paranoid that at any second the entire scheme would suddenly implode. Like if one of them gets a headache or something, an ingrown hair, I mean, and the whole operation gets shut down? I mean, the wind kept blowing display stuff over and I was certain I was about to here some screaming and crying. But they did seem to pull it off. I guess.

I mean, at around 11:30a the Publisher rolled in to take over the Cubby Bubby booth so I could haul apple sam-sam to the City. I mean, right when she showed up I sold the last two "Regular" Bubbys. All that were left were GF Bubbys. Six, I think. Maybe seven. She sold all but two of them. I mean, I gave the Putin of Gluten one of the GF Breakfast Bubbys. He gave it a rave review. I mean, I think I did it. I got them down. The GFs. I just need to make less of them. Next time I will only do six. I mean, speaking of which, I got home today from the City and there was a box on the front porch from Wayfair. I had ordered four spring pans for the GF Bubbys weeks ago and they finally came. But when I opened the box there was nothing in it except a wooden box for champagne bottles and some packaging. I mean, either they mailed me an empty box with a wooden box inside, or somebody stole the stuff. Either way, I asked for a refund. I mean, whatever. Why are there so many scams in this world these days? I mean, the things took forever to ship. I mean, I forgot about them entirely, but then they sent me an electronic mail that said they were coming and sorry they were late, and this shows up? This empty box with a wooden box inside? I mean, nobody would steal those things, right? They are basically useless unless you are a baker like me with a very specific idea on how to use them. I mean, it's not like they are made of copper and you can sell the metal, and the idea that some enterprising opportunist would come around and steal the goods out of the box? I don't buy it. They just never got mailed. It was some person in the warehouse that had to mail the order or they didn't get paid or something, right? Which is why they added the wooden box? So that the weight was correct? And not only that, but there was another cardboard box in the box too. I mean, in a good faith argument, my theory is that someone at the warehouse is running a double business, stealing from Wayfair and then shipping empty boxes out. Re-selling the other stuff on the computer until they get caught and fired. I mean, I would respect that. Stick it to the man, man!

I mean, I hit the skids by 12:04p. Taking the fast roads back to Lower Granville. Which suck, but it does shave off 10 minutes. I had to stop and get my air buds that I had forgotten to pack. I mean, I stopped, ran inside, grabbed them and hit the skids again. Taking the fast roads to Rutland. Which also sucked. I hate that fast drive. Rutland is Buttland. The highway between Killington and Manchester is bogus. Rutland proper is depressing. The traffic, the scenery, the town itself. I mean, I almost drove through Brandon in order to make the trip less deplorable, but I didn't feel like driving over a mountain with my fresh brake pads just to save myself 10 minutes of visual anguish. But still, I almost did it. But I didn't do it. I almost did do it though. But I didn't. But I could of. But I didn't. But still, I almost did.

I mean, after that it was VT 7 to NY 22 to NY 20 to NY 5 to I think NY 295 and then the Taconic Parkway. I mean, I made great time. If by great time I mean five hours and 50 minutes. I mean, I listened to old episodes of Car Talk from the 90's. Which was funny. Brother Luke is friends with the brother that is still alive. Because of his wife. And he told me, Brother Luke, that the reason they started that show was because they had set up a community car garage, much like the one I want to set up in Rochester, but for profit, and instead of people coming in to work on their cars by themselves, the brothers from Car Talk just ended up fixing everyone’s car for free. Which then led them to starting the call-in show and then opening up a garage of their own. Which, I mean, I find that very interesting. And especially now, now that Junior Mint is entering his "Golden Years" where very soon I think there is going to be a cost/benefit to fixing the thing from here on out. I mean, 160,000 miles on it. And, I mean, 300 mile road trips twice a week? I mean, I will be up to 180,000 miles by the end of the year at this rate. I mean, I need to start looking for another car right now. I mean, that, or I need to start taking a train down to the City instead of driving. As far as getting to Portland and back, I don't think I have an option. But for the most part that drive is flat driving. Maybe not in Vermont, but in New Ham and Maine it is. And I can always take a bus from Maine to the City. I mean, whatever. I just need to get rich. But then if I was rich, I wouldn't be driving a car from job to job in the first place. Or if I was, I wouldn't be driving a car with 160,000 miles on it. I mean, being working class is always a barrel of good times. It just never found under cows killed ends! Sure, you might make enough money to relax, but then you remember you need a new car and have to pay taxes and suddenly you are poorer then before you even went to work. I mean, give up first! Because no matter what you do, it always ends this way! And then what? You are driving down the road, you hear a loud noise, a banging and crunch sound and then a squeal, and suddenly steam is boiling out from under the hood and you are stranded in the middle of nowhere New Ham? And suddenly you can't get to work so you can get the money to buy the new car you need to get to work and also the tow job you need to get your broken down car on the side of the road as you were driving to work to pay for the new car so you could get to work so you could pay the taxes that you incurred because you were WORKING! And the entire economy being based on things breaking down specifically so you have to buy new things? STAY HOME! You will save money that way. Don't go to work. Any dollar you spend is a new dollar you have to make again. I mean, I bet, I really do bet, that I could just hang out in Vermont doing nothing, working part-time anywhere, the Mac's, maybe getting some handyman job or something, just barely paying rent and bills, and I would come out ahead. I mean, once you get into the machine, it just chews you up and spits you out the other side. Declare bankruptcy! Default! Default like the wind! Make your own Ticklers! Raise chickens and tiny pigs. Not the big ones. Those things cost too much. Get chicken-sized pigs. Tiny cows. Grow beans and one or two fruit trees for scurvy. I mean, it's all rigged against you anyway. Take advantage of it. The poorer you are, the better off you will be. The second you dip your dirty little worm into middle class nonsense is the second you lose!

I mean, I talked to PegLeg about this as I was driving between Manchester and Bennington. And I kept saying: "I don't know why anyone would be mad at me because I don't want to own a house, but there are people mad at me because I don't want to own a house." And she said she wasn't mad at me because I didn't want to own a house, but I didn't believe her. I mean, I know there is a thing about the "Economy" and whether people are "Active Participants" in it. And I vehemently disagree. Maybe you aren't mad at me, but thinking I am a fool because I don't either own a house or want to own a house? I mean, sure, my money isn't getting "Invested" and I am an "Able-Bodied Man" who should be working more. But screw that! I don't know a single person that is elated with dealing with owning a home. It's a chain tied to a heavy ball wrapped around your neck. I don't want to be forced to work full-time to pay money to a bank that uses my money to make more money for themselves. I mean, money is nonsense anyway. It's nice to have, I would rather be rich than poor, for sure, but so what? There is no job in the world that would make it seem like I am doing a good thing going to it. I don't have the education or the mind-space to be that person. And then to think of the future as something I need to bet against in order to have assets so I can pay my medical bills when I am dying? I mean, I say, go die in a the lobby of an emergency room after spending your life paying somebody else's mortgage payments. I mean, life is so damn temporary that the idea that you can hold onto anything is such a bogus misunderstanding of what it means to be alive that at any moment you will feel like a king in some fiefdom ruling your garden and the next second you are barely a mosquito getting slapped to death on the arm of some billionaire catching sun on his 300 foot yacht. I mean, until the entire system crumbles and the poorest among us don't have to worry about where their next meal is coming from, I mean, it is a moral prerogative to live like a scamp even if you have $15,000 dollars in your bank account. Because all that money is already spoken for. And the more money you make, it just gets more and more spoken for unless you can break free from the bonds of dept. Which only means you are rich, which means! That you are not part of this conversation in the first place.

I mean, I am not saying that my mom is mad at me for not owning a house. I think she just worries about me. But owning a house will not solve that worry. I work. Every day I work. There is no day I don't work. And I am lazy and I hate work. Not because I don't enjoy working, but because I don't like being forced to do stuff I don't want to do. And that is the nature of life. But being lazy and figuring out how to be more lazy is the correct way to go. Be over-paid and under-worked. And in your free time, write books, make art, grow plants. I mean, life doesn't need to be miserable. And do me a favor, cut everyone that doesn't want to be part of the system just a little bit of slack. Because if you decide to become middle class, that is your problem, not ours. I pay property taxes too. Just not in the direct way that you do. They come in the form of rent. That is what rent is. So if you think I am skirting the system by being poor, you are a fool. Every single dollar I spend is a tax. It just goes to the middle class and all the rich goons that live in a world that gets subsidized by tax money. The poor feel all of the taxes you don't even notice. The train fare, the sales tax, the gas bill. When your budget leaves you with nothing at the end of the month and you think that if only we didn't spend three dollars on a bagel with cream cheese because we could do that at home for cheaper, I mean, I cry a great big tear about your house payment or whatever, that loan you signed your life away with. To a bank that uses your money to invest in arms for wars because: "If we don't sell those things to the Saudis, someone else is." I mean, $.54 cents of every Federal dollar going to "Defense?" And you are hopping on my jock about what I spend on groceries? That I should be saving more? From what? What pool of money should I be gathering that money from? And for what reason? Because you have to go to work every day? Boo-freaking-hoo! Being poor is a full-time job! The stress alone would kill half of the jerks that think that, and the other half wouldn't know how to live on $20 dollars a day. Using coins to pay for public transportation. Spending hours every day stuck on a train just getting to work. They would die from discomfort. ABOLISH TURNSTILES!

I mean, I don't know. I got to the City and parked pretty good. Went inside. Professor Curly was wearing a pretty good outfit. I will let it speak for itself:

[Insert PC Subway Photo]

I mean, we went to G's thing. The whole reason I drove down to the City. And it was great! They did a Dracula. And it was very entertaining. It was also a "Whose Whom" of downtown theater. Mike was there, Kate was there, Scott S. was there, Sarah M. was there, Flako, Ari. I mean, and then me and Rambona and Professor Curly went to Williamsburg afterwards. To some weird party. Where they curled my hair and we ate chicken and cheese and drank White Claw and had a shot or two of Tequila. And then me and PC went back to Queens to eat refried beans. Rambona went back to Fort Greene to wander around, it seems. And then in the morning, we got up good. Hung out for a while. Did some bonin' and ate an everything bagel breakfast sandwich with bacon. And then I drove back to Vermont. I mean, tomorrow I need to get my "Poop in a group" as Brother Buck would say. Clean the house. Get ready to haul apple sam-sam to Wyoming on Tuesday. See you next Tuesday. I mean, Johnny will be here tomorrow, so we can hang out on DogBoy Beach. And then on Tuesday about noon, Scott will drive me to Albany and borrow Junior Mint for the three weeks I am on the road. I mean, phase two of the Summer. I mean, maybe we will meet with Tom-Tom there? He will be in Buffalo, or Sheridan at some point. I mean, among other stuff. Visiting Guy on the weekend of the 20th, in Woody Creek. Brother Luke coming around on like the 16th or 17th. I mean, tomorrow will be a mess. But so what of it? There is some possibility that Professor Curly comes out.

I mean, whatever. Here is a great song. I think PC should do a movie about the Roche Sisters. I mean, either that, or I will write a play about them. Or both. Because there is something ineffable that they do that proves something about art. And it needs to be celebrated and explored.

[Insert Hammond]

Either way. I may write on Roach Town [Italics] tomorrow, or I won't write nothing. But I probably won't screed for a few days. Sucks to be you. Wish me luck on our travels! Smell ya on the flip side.