[187] Screed City

[187]

08/26/2022 Friday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus.

Well, I mean, a few developments since I was gone. My beans died. RIP. I guess it didn't rain when I was gone. Too bad. I mean, I will have some beans to harvest, but they are puny little things. In other tragic news, my Ticklers stalled. I mean, halfway through the ferment, so now I have about 20 gallons of 2.9% ABV Ticklers to contend with. I mean, I didn't notice when I was bottling the first four gallons, so I went out and bought some $1 dollar soda pops in half gallon bottles. Which, I mean, I added some yeast to the stuff and put it in the empty bottles. Which, I mean, here is the question: Do I off-gas them every day, or do I just let them finish fermenting and maybe end up with a real effervescent yummers that may or may not explode in the basement? I mean, the last twelve gallons of the good stuff I added some yeast to. So, hopefully in about a week I will have sugar neutral Ticklers. For now, I got this low alcohol shit that will make me fat and give me diabetes. I mean, tomorrow, sadly, I will have to buy the first set of store-grown Ticklers in months now. I mean, I had to buy some of those things in Wyoming, but that is because I had no choice. I mean, my poor bank account. I mean, I finally got the bill for the rental. It still hurts my stomach thinking about it. Ugh. Money! You suck.

I mean, as far as the soda in the bottles is concerned, guess what? Orange flavored Ticklers and cola flavored Ticklers will be available next weekend. I mean, think about that the next time you drink a pop. It has enough sugar in it to make 5% ABV Ticklers. That is 1 lb of sugar for every gallon of soda. I mean, you drink 10.6 cans of 12 oz soda and you are drinking 1 lb of sugar. Bloomberg was right, you are not responsible enough to decide how much soda you drink. I mean, joking aside, that is insane, but also kind of good for me. I like the clear 2 liter bottles. They are the perfect thing for Ticklers. The champagne bottles are too pretentious.

I have killed two mice since getting back. I have no idea where the hole is that the squirrel dug it's way in from. I still need to do that insulation assessment, so I am sure I will find out on Sunday when I get some time to finally do that. I mean, I baked all day today. Just got done in fact. I am trying a new thing. I put the Bubbys in the fridge instead of the freezer. There just isn't enough time to freeze them and thaw them. I mean, tomorrow I need to make guts after the Farmers Market. Which stinks. I don't want to do it, but I need to do it, otherwise next week will sleep under cockroach kitchens. If you catch my drift. I mean, I have a ton of stuff to do, and I shouldn't be worrying about Cubby Bubbys. I mean, I am going to help Scott with the new house. I got the insulation. Plus I need to make a book plan for the next three months. And I also need to make a plan in general for the next five years and even 10 years if I am to be honest. I'll be 45 in October. Can you believe it? Fucking time! I'll cut you if you don't back the fuck off!

I mean, I finished Roach Town [Italics] last night. I guess the ending is a mystery, eh? On that note, I am done with publishing fiction on this thing. I did it! It only took 10 years, but I don't need an audience to do it anymore. I mean, that was the plan all along, I didn't think it would take this long, but, I mean, it helps that I have Screed City to get my wiggles out, as the moms say. I mean, in the next day or two I am going to do a scrub of any fiction left on this thing, so, I mean, whatever. it won't affect anything, I am just saying.

Junior Mint is doing great. He got some new springs. Sprite as a teenager. Car-wise. I did a cool thing yesterday when I drove by some kids playing soccer in Middlebury, they accidentally kicked the ball into the street when I was driving by, I jumped up the curb, turned real sharp and did like a flip-over move that bounced the back of the car into the air and bounced the soccer ball back to them. Then I did a quick spin around and came to a stop. The motion of the car stopping made the sunglasses that were resting on the top of my head to fall down and cover my eyes. All the kids were like: "Whoa!" I just smiled and burned out. Leaving them in a cloud of dust.

Scott switched the springs out when I was in Wyoming. He said the old springs were quite chintzy. Like, not right. I mean, they were very different than the new ones. I mean, the action added about two inches of lift to the back. And now the car doesn't flop around corners anymore. It doesn't flop around corners any less either. Just joking. That is the old drinking adage:

"I don't drink anymore, I don't drink any less either." HAHAHA.

I mean, I don't know what else is new. The goats grew about adult size since I have been gone. What once was cute about them is long gone. They are still idiots that can get real for once. I mean, Grit grew about three inches too. During her time at Summer Camp. I mean, kids grow. They grow and they keep growing. And then when they stop, they pack all their shit in a car and drive as far away from you as they can possibly get. Calling home only when they need money. Ungrateful bastards.

I mean, I think Professor Curly is coming up tomorrow. We are going to test if she can do film editing from the house. Up here. We got some fresh internet that maybe will be enough for her to do the thing here. I mean, I hope so. That was always the plan. To be able to be up here and down there equally. Without interruption. I mean, I need to figure out my thing with the Brewery. My funds are feeling short again. Travel Tip: Don't rent a fucking car! Especially for three weeks at a time. Unless you are a millionaire. $2,600 bucks. That was the final amount. $2641.13. I mean, I needed a car when I was out there, that is true, but at what cost? Well, I just told you the cost. Not to mention the gas guzzling nature of the beast, plus the two hotel nights, plus all the extra travel. I mean, it was fantastic and worth it just to see Guy and Rachel and Little I and the drive over the Rocky’s and driving all over Wyoming, but still. I mean, something has to give.

I am ready for the Farmers Market tomorrow. I made 30 Breakfast Bubbys, 10 Cubby Bubbys, 10 Veggie Bubbys and 10 Taco Bubbys. No gluten frees. Although I did make a GF Breakfast Bubby and a GF Taco Bubby for my Booth Buddy Jarod, the Putin Of Gluten. I mean, I am kind of excited for tomorrow. It is supposed to be very mild, no rain, 73F, plus Professor Curly is coming around, plus maybe I will get a nice upskirt from the UpSkirter, for old times sake. And maybe Abbie will finally tell me she had a kid and I can say: "I knew it!" Plus other hijinks. I mean, the Summer is basically over. The leaves have already started changing. The tourists seemed to have gone away, I mean, for now, and I hope not, for Cubby Bubbys sake. Butwhatever. If I have learned anything this year, and, I mean, it is not much, but the one thing I know, or at least think I know, is that I should always bring 60 Bubbys to the market. And if I get skunked tomorrow, so be it. I mean, I have decided that I will not be doing this shit next year. It is too much of a commitment with such very low payoff that, I mean, my back hurts and I worked from the second I got up until now for what? Tomorrow will be another 10 hour day, if I do what I say I am going to do and cook after the thing. I mean, 20 hours of work for at most $360 dollars? I mean, if it was a daily business, sure. I could actually make a bit of cash, but in order to make that happen I would need to give up almost everything I have worked so hard to get. And right? Right when it is all starting to come together? The work at will thing at the Brewery for more than decent money, the house in Vermont where I can write like the wind and not be encumbered. The apartment in the City where I can go to get some good times and culture. I mean, Professor Curly have about 90% of everything to do with this happening, but still, I can take credit for the 10% of complaining I have done over the last two years that makes it all possible. I mean, who buried the hose in the ground so the goat water doesn't freeze in the Winter? Who killed 59 mice and plugged every hole in the place? Who hung that cool bone sculpture out front that has now since disintegrated? ME! It was all my doing!

I mean, who invented Ticklers? Although, the sweet ones are kind of good. The Publisher tried them yesterday and said: "Hmmm, they are more tasty than normal, like almost a lemonade flavor, did you flavor them different?" And I was like: "Sadly no, that is just sugar. You are tasting sugar." Which, I mean, instead of tasting like a dry, acrid, sweat-sock, that is a little bit of a compliment.

Alas, however, I still wouldn't mind having a business. And maybe I can factor that into the five and 10 year plans. I just don't need to be tied down in Vermont from the middle of May until the middle of October. Every Saturday. It's no way to live. I mean, maybe if I was 10 years younger and got a great kick out of living here, but as much as I do find living here kind of hilarious, unless we can figure out a way for Professor Curly to visit more often, or if I make a million dollars somehow, I will always be travelling at all times. And as much as enjoy coming home to loud annoying goats and squirrels that eat my flour and coffee, I mean, had I not had to come up here for the Farmers Market, I would have much rather gone down to the City first. Then come up here when I was done with that, if you catch my drift?

I mean, my drift is that I don't like being tied down up here. It is not the way to be. For moi. If I can't have the freedom to travel while at the same time having the freedom to stay put, I mean, Portland is three hours away, five hours from the City. G is closer when I am in the City too. A train ride away. I mean, I am just saying. If I prioritize correctly, I think I can get a real nice balance going on. Plus Winter. And Screed City Radio. Which, WHICH! I need to figure out AMEC! Ugh. Remember when I used to love making lists and I would have a good time figuring all of this out? Now it just seems like chasing money, never getting a second to rest, and a million half-assed projects that need addressing at all times. I mean, is that just age? Or is it indifference? Have I gone soft? Do I not care anymore? I mean, it used to be when I finished a book I would cry and cry and cry. Like some sort of perverted emotional orgasm. But now it is just like: "Well, shit. I finished that novel, now what?" I mean, I write novels nowadays like I used to read them. I get a few weeks of excitement and entertainment from them, wondering what could possibly come next, and then when I am done with them, so what? What's next? I mean, I don't dare take my foot off of the pedal. Everyone knows what happens when you stop writing. You end up doing some dumb think-piece in the New Yorker about how this or that finally gave you the "Courage" to write again, and it is always something stupid like the auther got shingles and saw a young couple making out on a bench at the park and suddenly life really came into focus. And then everyone pukes and tells them they have such courage because the are writing again. I mean, writing is stupid. You can't tell me otherwise. I mean, have you ever met a writer? They are intolerable. Self-important jack-asses that think that everyone just love, love, loves the shit coming out of their heads. And then they complain about being broke, followed by a 20 minute monologue about how the research for there new novel is so very fascinating. Research? Bitch, you're reading Wikipedia posts about rare poisons, I don't know, try getting scabies for once, write about that, it would be way more interesting than your Chuck Palinichuc bullshit. Research? Don't make me sick.

I mean, the entire point of writing is to put your dumb thoughts down on paper. Then you try to get somebody to read it. It's not noble or magical, it's narcissism with a twist of ego mania. I mean, fiction is dead, and the 90's killed it.

I mean, I am joking, of course, but still. If you are a writer, don't stop writing. It is way easier to get out than it is to get back in.

[Insert Cubby Bubby Photo]