[183] Screed City

[183]

08/17/2022 Wednesday. Milk Crate. Stabbin' Cabin. Worlando Beach, Wyoming.

Quite the morning. An eye exam, two breakfasts and an early lunch. I mean, it's like early pandemic all over again. Aside from the eye exam. I mean, I skipped dinner, that is for sure. I mean, also, I had to get up at 6:30a to make the eye appointment. Which, I mean, that wasn't too bad. I went to bed early enough, but still, getting up at dawn to go to an eye exam is a little much. Woe betide.

I mean, I always enjoy the time I spend at the eye doctor here. He is a very nice Mormon weirdo. With five daughters, a great big LOVE for Broadway and all it entails. I mean, I have some thoughts on the matter that I won't share right now. Or ever, really, maybe in private with close confidantes, but there is no reason to stir up the muck. But his private life is none of my business and he is always excited to see me. He calls me his most famous client, which is pure nonsense, but I do think he enjoys my company when I come around. I mean, aside from trips to San Francisco and New York's Theater Row, I don't think he gets out much. I mean, he is top notch as far as eyes are concerned. And all of his stuff is state of the art, so you don't get a lot of in your face breathing down your neck invasive attacks on your personal space. I mean, it is all hands off now. And he gets me seeing real good. I mean, he told me that I my eyes are the most stable he has seen them since I have been going to him. I mean, he even told me to keep doing what I was doing. To which I responded: "Yeah, I look at stuff a lot! Small things. Big things. Things at a distance. I even sometimes hold things and then bring them in real close and then after that I hold them at a different distance." I mean, he was ignoring me when I made this joke. But it was a good joke nonetheless.

I mean, I now need progressive lenses. Which is parlance for reading glasses. It is finally here. The proof of middle age. I mean, I had a good ride. The slippery slope is upon me. Meh, what can you do? Nothing, that is what. But my eyes have always been bad. Double astigmatisms in both eyes. Since I was like eight. I mean, I remember trying to put my contacts in in 3rd grade. The things like floppy frisbees almost as big as my hand. I mean, it was torture. But I managed. And I have kept managing since then. Sometimes with contacts, mostly with glasses. I mean, lousy vision stinks. I can't drive at night. But maybe with these new glasses with progressive lenses I won't have to take my glasses off all the time to read close things. So that will be good.

I mean, PegLeg had an appointment too. She met me there. There was another woman there as well. Waiting for the place to open. Which was kind of funny in itself. Three people standing outside an eye clinic waiting for it to open. In Wyoming. I mean, I felt bad because I was standing with the sun behind me. PegLeg to my right, the sun on her shoulder. But the poor other woman, who we were talking too, she had to shade her eyes whenever she looked over. And I was about a foot taller than her, so that compounded things. I kind of wanted to go to her other side to give her some relief, but that didn't happen. I mean, at one point PegLeg knocked on the door and someone came over and unlocked it. We went inside and checked in. It was a real Mommy/Son eye exam. Something out of a Scottish sitcom. The only thing missing was me drinking a can of beer at eight in the morning. I mean, the flamboyant Mormon, the inept and cranky assistants. I mean, they were only inept in their insistence and arrogance that they knew more than everyone else. I mean, PegLeg had to explain to them no fewer than six times how her insurance worked. And they just refused to believe her. I mean, it took some sort of thumbs up from the back room before they believed what she was saying. Typical Wyoming misogyny. Believe women. The Patriarchy at it's finest.

I mean, I got my eyes checked. Told some anecdotes about things. Found out that my eyes were old and then that was that. I looked around for some glasses frames. I mean, I wanted to keep the ones I got. They are the best I have ever had, but they don't make them anymore, and I couldn't just leave my glasses with them for two weeks. Right? I mean, maybe next year I can get them to refurbish the ones I am using now. Or even I can ship them back and have them do the treatment when I get the new ones? I mean, I called G to get them to come over and help me pick a new pair out. G and Cousin A were there in a few minutes. Cousin A had slept over. Which, I mean, she was sleeping on the couch when I got up. Which, I mean, she told me that she was going back to TenSleep last night. But it turns out she was just fucking with me. Why? I don't really know. Teenagers are dicks is really the reason why. I mean, it didn't hurt my feelings or whatever, it was just weird to be lied to for no reason.

[Insert Eye Doctor Photos]

I mean, PegLeg did her eye thing. G and Cousin A left. To meet us at the Brass Plumb. For first breakfast. I mean, we haggled with the assistants. I mean, PegLeg did, I just stood there dumbfounded at why they were so incredulous. I mean, I dealt with females in Wyoming my entire life until the moment I left. And I have to tell you, they are kind of pricks. They have been sold a bill of goods, and instead of just admitting that fact they double down. I mean, they get the absolute worst of the Patriarchy. Bad health care, all the parent duties, plus they are expected to also be independent and to not complain. Because why? I don't know. And for some reason this makes them attracted to the biggest pieces of shit Society has to offer in the form of men. You know? The strong and silent types. The deep waters are still kind of assholes. Who are basically men/children who can't express emotions and are basically abusive. And even the children have this preference. I mean, it wasn't until I moved to NYC that I thought that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't a disgusting faggot on the scene. That people I was attracted to were also attracted to me too. I mean, the mind-fuck of growing up odd in Wyoming is something I do not wish on my worst enemies ATBMS.

And I am not even that odd. Even back then I wasn't that odd. I didn't have like obsessions and stuff, I was just a kid. Who wanted regular things. I mean, it didn't help being poor. And I was not exactly normal, but I wasn't something abnormal. Maybe non-typical, as it were, but still, if I had any confidence at all in myself, it wasn't because I had an easy go at it. It was only because I had drive and focus. I mean, I was a lucky one. I got out. My heart breaks for all the others that got stuck here and have been chewed up and spit out. The Justin’s of the world that just get weirder and weirder with each passing day. Too lonely to even navigate the almost non-existent social life that makes up this decaying garbage dump of a town.

I mean, I drove by the Community Center. It wasn't as busy as yesterday. I mean, I kind of wanted to ask the eye doctor a politics question, but then I realized it would be pointless. He is hyper-Mormon. So, no matter what, abortion alone was a reason to vote for the unAmerican other racist one. I mean, Cheney is terrible on women's rights issues. And so long sucker is how I feel about her losing the race. But that small tiny sliver of Democracy overlap that she embodies right now, I mean, whatever. My only point on all of it is just that the Republican Party is now 100% fascist. The metamorphosis is complete. And the irony that Cheney was the last bastion of hope is not lost on me. And I am done talking politics, but it was interesting there for one brief moment. And now that it is over, I mean, let the ossification complete itself. I mean, a great big fascist butterfly is about to emerge. Get ready for state border check points. The new Cheney even said it, outsiders are no longer welcome in Wyoming.

I mean, I drove to the Brass Plumb. G and Cousin A and PegLeg were already there. I sat down in the booth. I wasn't going to eat breakfast but I was quite hungry. I looked at the menu. Hoping for biscuits and gravy. Alas, no biscuits and gravy. But the Breakfast Sampler looked good. Eggs and bacon or sausage or ham and toast and hash-browns. I mean, G got the breakfast sandwich. Cousin A got the Belgium waffle. Me and PegLeg got the exact same thing. Although, she tried to get ham and they didn't have it, and she also tried to get her eggs poached, which they didn't do. So she got it the same way I did. Eggs over easy with bacon and white toast. I mean, the bread for the toast was homemade. So that was good. I mean, the breakfast was good. Like really good. I enjoyed it immensely. With some Tabasco and a cup of coffee that I accidentally put vanilla creamer into. I mean, when it was done I went to the bathroom. When I came out nobody was around. I thought they would be in the parking lot. Nope. They were gone. The fuckers ditched me! I mean, at least I had the rental, but how rude! No goodbye, see you in a few, no nothing. Just ghosts. Flapping in the breeze. Such jerks.

I mean, I did have other plans, but that was rude. Okay, I will let it go, but c'mon! You don't just ditch a dude after breakfast, right? I mean, I drove over to the stalwart, the Jess Barbagallo of downtown Worland food stuffs the Ranchito's. I parked the 4-Runner. Which was a funny thing. I mean, that stupid car/truck is a behemoth. Why would anyone buy one? It is such a stupid vehicle. I mean, I guess in the instance of a car wreck you might do good to have such a tank, but 99% of all the other things that cars and trucks do, it is just a gas guzzling piece of pointless Americana. And it is Japanese! Do people in Japan drive these junk cars around? I really doubt it. Isn't Japan a small island? I mean, I think this is kind of hilarious. I mean, I see them everywhere. Here. For what reason? If you are going to buy such a thing and live in such a place, why the hell aren't you buying an American made car/truck thing? I mean, if you believe a single word that comes out of your mouth. I mean, I know they don't, lying is somehow connected to god for these assholes, but still, I would think there would be at least a modicum of self respect employed, right? I mean, these things are notorious for lousy gas mileage. It just seems so stupid to buy these things. Do they reSale good or something? Maybe they don't break down? I mean, whatever. I hate the one I have been driving, it feels like driving a tank/limo. I mean, maybe they are good for the Winter? Or off-road? I mean, I can't drive off-road because it is a rental and I don't want to test the thing I signed. I mean, I am looking forward to dropping this thing off and paying what I owe on it and to be done with it forever. Because, my god, did I learn a lesson. Never again. Never, ever again. I mean, I am going to start my UpStart company the second I get back to Vermont. The Air B&B for cars. The Car R&R. Car, rent and ride. I mean, at this point, months, if not a year after the peak of the Plague, there are quite a few cars out there that have very little value now. And it would be better to rent them out than to sell them, I mean, my guess is. The whole scam of buying a new car in the first place. I mean, YOU LOSE 50% OF VALUE JUST BY OWNING THE FUCKING THING. How is that a good investment? HOW??????

I mean, I had to do a funny pull-in, pull-out just to get the thing situated right in the parking lot. Because it is so big. I mean, I am used to it, the size-queen Professor Curly knows all about it, but still, it's not like I was making bed-moves. I was just parking the rental. I mean, I looked up and saw the place where last Summer we had to get new tires for the Real Estate Wagon. And how crazy those people have gone down the rabbit hole of Republican lies since then. I mean, I really don't want to talk about politics, but I kind of really do because it is insane this call for civil war coming from the racist Right. I mean, who the hell are they civil warring against? I mean, do they think that Dems will just start wearing big "D" armbands or something? I mean, who are they going to shoot? The FBI? How is that going to go? I mean, I have ZERO love for the FBI, but I do know that in the history of the FBI there has never once been a Democrat in charge of the thing. And if it is just them versus the Government, I mean, the Status Quo, I mean, doesn't that just make them Terrorists in their own image? How do you square that circle ATBMS? I mean, all I mean, is that shit is about to get real weird around here real soon.

I mean, sorry, I am sure, I have some thoughts, I suppose. A horse down yonder has been screaming for a while now. Trying to get humped or do some humping, I suppose. I mean, I parked alright. Had some thoughts. Got out of the rental. Just then Jacob drove up in his minivan. Then Nick drove up in his minivan. And suddenly we all became middle-aged. Future bi-focals included. I mean, Nick had two kids and a mom. Jacob had one kid and a mom. Me and Jacob were wearing the same shirt. I mean, mine said: "DISHWASHER," Jake's said: "DISHWASHERS," my shirt was about the book, his shirt was about the band. I mean, they were both great shirts. I did a great job on them. I mean, we went inside. Got a table for eight. In the back. I mean, Ranchito's has the worst, the very worst acoustics. As bad as an indoor swimming pool. I mean, being middle-aged and all, it made talking very hard. Plus three kids and other patrons in the place. I mean, Kenny was there. Kenny, who, I mean, I have known Kenny and his two brothers my whole life. The Brothers Bower too, I mean, Kenny is a sweetheart, he has some sort of thing that makes it hard to be independent. I mean, it is not Down-Syndrome, but something akin to that, both his brothers have it too. I mean, Kenny is the guy that would get really worked up at the Office Bar & Lounge and go around saying: "Busy, busy, busy!" And then he would sell beer to minors because he didn't know to ask for ID's. But he gave Jacob a big hug. Sat us at the table. The waitress came over. Took our drink order. She apologized for being slow. The place was packed. She said she was the only waitress on hand. Which seemed exhausting, but she seemed resigned to it. I mean, I asked her later if she really was the only waitress and that sucked and she said she was used to it. I mean, she probably made decent money, I guess, during the rush. And maybe it was worth it, but who knows? Cheryl probably came in around 11a and took over as the only waitress during the lunch rush. I mean, cycle of life. I mean, she probably made $100 bucks in the hour we were there. In tips. And it seemed like it was busy before that, so maybe she makes $300 dollars a day or something. Which isn't too bad. For middle of bumfuck Wyoming. On a Wednesday morning. But still, the work seemed hard and unrewarding. But still.

I mean, I read the menu. And since it was second breakfast I noticed they had biscuits and gravy and suddenly I regretted having first breakfast. I mean, I ordered a half-order of biscuits and gravy. The kids all got pancakes and bacon. Jacob got a tamale meal. Nick got a Super Dan. Which, I mean, they all should have gotten the Super Dan if you ask me. But they didn't. Little S's mom got a burrito breakfast thing. That came with flour tortillas. I don't know what the Third Adult got. I mean, I guess she was the Fourth Adult in this telling, but if you remove me from the equation, I mean, it also sounds better, the Third Adult, versus the Fourth Adult, right?

I mean, at some point Kenny came over with coffee. And someone said: "Hot stuff, coming through!" And then Kenny said: "Hot stuff! Watch out!" I mean, he is very charming. And the Mayor from town made an appearance. The town drunk. Who calls the Third Adult: "Chulo." For some reason. I mean, that dude, I won't lie, he is a dick. He was a dick growing up. I still remember him, I mean, this is not him being a dick story, but a funny story, he told me and Chris, his son, not to play in the wood pile. And because we were kids we were like: "Whatever, Chris's dad!" And we played on the wood pile. Then, because we were kids, a log fell down and trapped me. And Chris was too small to get the log off of my leg. So we had to go get his dad, the future Mayor of Worland, the town drunk, to come take the log off of my leg. And he was not happy about it. I mean, we broke him free of the nap that he had been taking in the second living room downstairs. I mean, as an adult, I can see how annoying that must have been. And as someone that has been hungover in the past, I mean, I could equally see how annoying that would be. I mean, he is a public figure now, so I can talk all the trash I want to about him without any consequence, but still, I don't mean to talk too much trash, and he did warn us against playing in the wood pile. And he is sober now. And I have no desire to stigmatize alcoholism. It is a disease that should be treated as such. But, still, the fact that he is now the mayor of this garbage heap of a town, I mean, it is not surprising. And, I mean, he is only considered the town drunk because right before he became Mayor he was arrested for drunk driving. And considering how many drunks there are around here, I mean, it is merely an ironic nomenclature. I mean, men don't have feelings, they drink them away. If your husband isn't a drunk, he is not a real man. I mean, I did see a guy, an adult man, riding a bike today, so maybe the stigma of being a human being is not so entrenched as it was growing up, alas, there is much work to do.

I mean, after second breakfast I bid everyone farewell. Got in the rental and drove back to PegLeg's to check in. G and Cousin A and PegLeg all laughed at me when I told them I was heading to Mikell's for an early lunch. I mean, it wasn't that early. It was nearly noon. I parked the rental outside her house and waited for Sister Megan. I mean, she had been working at the High School. Doing the lord's work. I mean, her job is a very important job for around here. I mean, I think it is mostly just keeping people like me engaged in Society. So they don't do something stupid like dropping out of school on their 17th birthday and then falling into a very long and depressing hole that lasts their entire life. I mean, it is complicated, but had she been there when I was struggling it would have helped. How much, I don't know, but it would have been nice to have somebody that understood me instead of what was there at the time. Which was nothing. And less than nothing. I mean, the opposite of nothing. Meaning, the "Pull yourself by your boot-straps up, Cowboy. Man the fuck up!"

I mean, I thought of an S&L skit today when I was driving around after my early lunch, preceded by first and second breakfasts. I mean. It is a guy in a call room taking calls from despondent males. The suicide hotline that now exists here. I mean, the idea, from the call center in actuality is people that understand living conditions here. And I am not making light of suicide in these parts, because it is an epidemic. I mean, not even the epidemic, I mean, it is bad here, real bad. Being a man in Wyoming is not very good for your mental health. But the dark and terrible joke I was thinking of was this: The guy at the call center takes a call. The guy on the other line says: "Yeah, I don't think I can take it any more. I need help." And the guy taking the calls is like: "Well, cowboy up, you pussy." Or whatever. And then there is the sound of a gunshot on the other end of the line. And the guy taking the call just shrugs and says: "Wyoming Suicide Hotline, tell me your troubles brother." And the guy on the line says: "I just can't take it anymore! I am so confused!" And the guy taking the call says: "Have you tried manning up, you pussy?" And then there is silence. Then a gunshot in the background. I mean, it is really dark, but that is how it is.

I mean, Sister Megan showed up. I followed her into Mikell's house. I mean, Mikell. The same as always. Her and her sisters. The best. The very best! I mean, I talk shit about Wyoming, a lot, maybe you can tell, but between Megan's mom and aunt and aunt, my own mom, I mean, these are good people. People that understand. Forces of nature ATBMS. I mean, dealing with the Patriarchy. I mean, there is a Matriarchy behind it all, and not all women go along with the Status Quo like I suggest. There are people here that resist. I mean, there are good things here. But Mikell. She took one look at me and said: "You put on some weight." I mean, sure. The last time I saw her I was like 20, but still, I have put on some weight. I defended myself. I said: "I did! But then I took a bunch off as well!" And Sister Megan, who was maybe trying to help said: "He used to be much bigger." Which, I mean, that school marm comment I made the other day, it was deserved, but that stuff is always funny. I mean, you can't talk about money because of Society, but you can sure as shit fat-shame a dude two decades on. I mean, it was true though. And not only that, but I was here eating an early lunch after my second breakfast, so pardon me for being a little bloated! I mean, whatever, it was very nice to see her. We talked and stuff for a while. Caught up. She had some prying questions for Sister Megan. I just listened. I mean, eventually, aside from wanting to see her, Mikell that is, to make sure she was doing okay, I asked her my pressing questions about cabbage burgers that I wanted answered. I said:

"I am writing a cookbook about cabbage burgers, I mean, do you have, I mean, can I get your recipe?" She scoffed at this. I mean, it wasn't like she was transported to the past or something, something that would make this interaction dramatic, but she was right back there in the Office Bar & Lounge days. I mean, she said:

"Yeah, well." She thought for a second. "You know, I used twenty-five pounds of flour when I did that shit." I mean, I tried not to curse, for some reason, but Mikell had no problem with it. "Sally, I mean, she tried to break it up for me once. The recipe. But it didn't go well. I think there might be something out there. I mean, I was doing like eight dozen of those things every Thursday." I mean, I don't think she said "Sally" but there was someone at some point that tried to break her recipe down. And I had to do the math. Eight dozen. That is 96 cabbage burgers! In one day! While the place was open and doing other things. Like burgers and fries and what not! I mean, that is insane! And then she said:

"I didn't also do it like most people did it, I didn't make good looking things, like good looking balls and such, I would just put the top over the bottom and push the edges together. I even had a piece of PVC pipe that I used." Sister Megan chimed in:

"I have that pipe!"

I mean, she told more stories about cabbage burgers. About the origins of the cabbage burger that she was emulating. I mean, I suppose I should have recorded the conversation, but that seemed rude. I mean, I guess I recorded most of it with my brain. But I was very glad about going there. I mean, at one point she was lamenting the idea of how bad things happen to good people. I mean, at one point she even said:

"I guess that is why shit happens to me this way." Which, I mean, she is a kindred spirit. I mean, I don't think she really thought that, but sometimes, when an 81 year old firecracker gets pissed about how the Universe works, I mean, we are all human beings until we become dust. And you have every right to complain. And everything is relative. I mean, I was glad to hear it. I mean, I am hoping to get her 25 lb recipe for a lunch room filled with jerks that are impatient and don't know what is good for them. I mean, 96 of the things in a day? I mean, Sister Megan told stories about getting up at 1a every day for years to bake. Because there was no other way to do it. And, fuck that. I mean, people don't know what is good for them, and they can suck it. And I don't care how much you want your breakfast "Smothered" I am just not going to give it to you. How about instead you wake up early and come to me. Stand in line until I am done having my morning coffee. Then, when I get around to it, I will make your damn sandwich, or whatever. Your Cubby Bubby.

I will say, the Taco Bubbys got praise from Cesar. Meaning the two biggest Taco Burgers deniers I know. Brother Charley and Sister Megan. I mean, I don't think that Sister Megan is a Taco Burger denier, per se, but by extension, I mean, I think I have a good thing going. I mean, we will see. That damn fucking Farmers Market. It is looming in the breeze. I still have another month and half of that bullshit when I get back. Ugh. What hell hath I wrought upon my own mortal champ? I am a fool! And by wayside, I am a fool's fool. The coin of easy cast is not unknown upon my travels, young guardian, I will break my teeth following your path. You are a terrible bedfellow.

Or something. I mean, I drove around for a while after the early lunch. After the first and second breakfasts. After the Mommy/Son eye appointment. I mean, Wyoming. The mountains in the distance. The endless roads that lead to other crappy towns. Everything beautiful and belligerent. I got to Greybull and decided to drive up Shell Canyon. But then I saw that the highway turned to 70 MPH. And I remembered that Shell Canyon was a very long drive so I turned around. I took the Greybull River Road back to Basin. Which, is desert on one side farm land on the other. I mean, I would have taken a photo, but I didn't. It is impossible to capture that beauty. What is the point? I mean, I took the Orchard Bench Road when I got to Basin. Which was nice. Slow going with the window down. I mean, I think I have captured most of it. Brother Luke will be in town tomorrow. I guess we will go up Carter on Friday. Then me and G will hit the slopes. Have a fun time with Guy and Rachel and Little I. And then, that is it. Back to the East. G will start school and I will go back to work. I mean, it is possible I write tomorrow and Friday, but who knows? This may be it for the Wyoming posts. I mean, it has been a wild ride.