[210] Screed City

[210]

11/19/2022 Saturday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Back in Vermont. I mean, briefly. I head down to the City tomorrow. For G's birthday. 15! Fucking 15. Then what? Driving? I mean, I am not ready for that. I mean, what can you do? Time marches on ATBMS, or maybe that was Metallica? I don't know, I don't want to dwell on it though because there is nothing I can do about it, but I mean, subconsciously I must be going through some shit because the amount of dreams I have been having when G was just a little kid, like every night for weeks now. I mean, and now that I am in Vermont and they are in New York, but not NYC and high school and their job on Sunday's, I mean, I always knew I would be that dad, like over there, that's like helpful and trustworthy for when things aren't going well at college or whatever, when G's mom is being a bee-sting or whatever, you know? Kind like a confidante that is a good reliable money source that has decent advice but isn't like actually living close enough to be an annoying parent, but that was supposed to happen in like three more years, not now, not during these formative years, I mean, something has to give. I mean, I have a plan, and that plan involves the City, so I am not too worried about it, but still, if I don't get on top of my shit AMEC, I mean, I risk becoming the cliché dad from the like the stories, the one that sends birthday cards for a while and then kind of just falls off into the abyss, and then G, in their mid-20's, decides to make a student film called: "My Dad, In Search of a Father," where they take a road trip to hunt me down and get answers to the burning questions that all 20 something young adults have. And the answer to all of the questions is; Because I wasn't there. And G will be like; "But why not?" And I will be like, "Because you and your mom moved to upState New York, and there is no way in hell I am moving to upState New York." And G will be like; "Was I not worth the sacrifice?" I mean, I am joking, and the more I write this joke it dawns on me that maybe nobody else was privy to these kinds of films that were made mostly in the late 90's by art school students that I happened to be friends with, so, I mean, this joke is probably coming off more as depressing than the satire it is meant to be. So, sorry for living.

[Insert Time Marches On]

I mean, to be honest I am sad about not seeing G as much as I would like to, and I need to figure that out. I have a plan. But I am still honestly freaked out about them learning to drive and then driving. It just feels too fucking soon. But alas, there is nothing I can do about it, so such is life. I mean, I got back from Portland and, I mean, there was one trap sprung in the Garbage Room with nothing in it. The boiler was working just fine. The traps in the basement were not sprung. I mean, the house was warm. Which, like an idiot, I had forgot that the Ticklers were done brewing, so I didn't need to leave the thermostat at 60F, I mean, I could have left it at 50F, and not only that, but I stupidly left the upstairs thermostat at 65F, so, I mean, I probably added $100 dollars to my heating bill for no god-damned reason. Ugh, I really hate wasting money. I mean, money is money, but wasting it, I mean, every dollar paid out is a new dollar you have to go get. I mean, the motto of the working class poor. When your income is equal to your outcome, I mean, they paycheck to paycheck shit the politicians are always pretending to care about, I mean, you wonder why people supposedly don't want to work? It's not because people are lazy, I will tell you that much, or, I mean, the working class do not have the luxury to be lazy, unlike the rich bitches, but when you have to think about every dollar spent because that dollar needs to be replaced somehow, I mean, it doesn't get easier the older you get, it just gets annoying and slowly chips away at your desire to even give a fuck anymore, which is how the Status Quo wants it, but here is a little insight to things I have learned this year, making, for the first time in my life, the money I deserve to get paid: When you are making a living wage and can pay your rent and bills and buy food and because you have lived a life of poverty so you don't spend extra money, I mean, living becomes pretty fucking cheap, and guess what? You can actually save money. Lot's of money. And it's not that I have suddenly become good with money, it is the opposite, I have always been good with money, I just never ever had it before.

I mean, inflation? This moral panic about wages going up so fast that soon we won't be able to even afford a Big Mac? I mean, hair on fire, right! I was shopping for beef the other day, and the shit was $2.79 a lb. $2.79 a lb! That is like half-priced beef but for the good stuff! The fresh stuff! And not only that, but pork butt was $.89 cents a lb! You see what I am getting at? If the problem with the Big Mac is that Micky D's is paying their workers a living wage, finally, fucking finally! But now, everyone else has to pay, I don't know, more money for a Big Mac, I mean, it sure the hell aint because meat is too expensive, which means, I mean, maybe I am stupid and somehow have missed the point, but that old cliché, which I guess clichés are the theme here, but that old cliché of; I could make this at home for a third of the price, I mean, it is true, it has always been true, and things like McDonald's have always been a delusion of value. I mean, even the Dollar Menu, I mean, you can go there and eat cheap as shit, you just can't buy the high dollar menu items, like the perceived value of the Big Mac, I mean, the Economy is a lie that we all convince ourselves of. And frankly, nobody actually cares about the poor and working class, because, it is one thing to not be able to afford a Big Mac, it is an entirely different thing to not be able to pay rent or afford cheap beef. I mean, right now, if you can't afford to eat food you cook at home for yourself and pay your rent and bills, while working, I don't know, 40 hours a week, I mean, there is something very fucked up inside that system that is making that happen. And the simple solution is a living wage, but that also needs to be combined with affordable housing. I mean, you knock those two things off the top of peoples living dilemmas, I mean, there is a reason the Child Tax Credit literally spit like 40 million people out of poverty, I mean, living paycheck to paycheck is a razor-thin game of making sure you can make that one dollar back that you spend. And, I mean, the single moment you get over the line, I mean, you can call us stupid, call us bad with money, but when we don't have a fucking dollar to spare, and you are giving us shit about how we manage pennies, while you worry about your 401k's and your retirement, while we worry about whether or not we can afford toilet paper? Add kids to the mix, I mean, I don't want to go back into it, because I feel like I have been ranting a lot about this lately, but if Americans actually understood how much we are being fleeced by the assholes at the top, I mean, how easy it is to make money the second you have money, because money is disgusting and grows exponentially once you reach a certain point, I mean, Scott came over earlier to drop off some birthday boots that Pegleg sent me and a very nice and thoughtful card from Lisa, probably the most influential person from my teenage years, when I needed the most help, who got me interested in mountain biking and therefore steered me away from the downward spiral I was heading in, I mean, Scott brought up the Bernie rally from a few weeks ago, and his speech, and how Bernie still uses the trope; The One Percent, which is true, the One Percent are disgusting oligarchs that need to not exist, but really it is the top 20% who, I mean, or he means, meaning Scott, own like 99.9% of the income, and we, meaning anyone else alive right now, the 8 billion people minus a few million, own just .01% of the wealth, I mean, if we knew this, really understood this in our bones, the way we should understand this, I mean, we would stop being distracted by the price of a Big Mac and maybe, just maybe, rip their assholes from their butts and rape their tongues with their own dirty assholes.

I mean, we are all poor, we might not feel poor, most of us, and that is fine, the illusion of wealth is just fine, life is life, everyone has to work, sure, I am not saying that we got a bum deal, as my dad would say, and he was the best at trying to avoid working in order to make a big pay-off happen. Brother Luke told me a story the other day about Johnny Cakes that made me say out loud: "Just get a fucking job, man!" I mean, like always, you, meaning me, share your biggest criticisms and bad feelings towards the thing that you share the most with, I mean, I know I talk shit about my dad quite a bit, I mean, he is dead, so it is hard to not work these things out with him now, I mean, my dad was a complicated person, sure, and I have some anger issues with the way he treated me growing up, and, I mean, I was a little like Bobby from King of the Hill, if you know that show, it's not important to know the show, I mean, basically I was not the son my father wanted, and he let me know that in quite a few ways, but at the same time, we are way more alike than we are different, and for me to say out loud, to my brother; "My god! Just get a job, man!" Says a lot. Because Brother Luke was telling me this story that our dad, Johnny Cakes, had this scheme to find a 6 foot rattler that he could sell to the Museum of Snakes or something. That he would spend hours, if not days in pursuit of this illusive snake. I mean, supposedly they would pay $10, 000 dollars for it. I mean, in honesty, it is a noble pursuit, I mean, much like him, I obsess about quite a few things in my life. I mean, my writing is an obsession of very few returns, the Ticklers, I mean, I am the only one that likes them, the Cubby Bubbys, I mean, that was a social experiment, I mean, in the end, I know my father, our father was an artist, and he saw himself as an artist, but the one thing that kind of irks me about him looking around for the world's largest gold-brick rattler, is that there was no logic to it. Which! WHICH, I mean, I respect this more than any other thing he was doing while we were growing up, because, frankly, it is stupid, and it makes all the other shit he did and said to me completely irrelevant, meaning, my god, my dad was just a dick to me for no fucking reason. I mean, if he was the kind of asshole that would spend hours and hours out in the badlands looking for snakes and then come home and tell me I had to play football, because all Truman's play football through eighth grade? I mean, fuck you, dad! Suck on the tip of my football sized cock! But if instead I understood that he was out there looking for the illusive six foot diamond gold brick rattler, I mean, what the fucking hell? I mean, Brother Luke knew this, Brother Jade knew this, Brother Charley knew this, Brother Buck knew this, but here I was, flailing, feeling like a loser, Society treating me like a loser, school, the police, and when I come home, even my lousy ass dad telling me that I suck, that I have no place in the world, and at the same time he is out there in wanderlust? I mean, to me that seems kind of abusive. I mean, maybe I am going through something too, with G turning 15, but, I mean if we were so very alike, yet at the same time, I got the shit end of the stick ATBMS, I mean, it just makes me feel bad for my dad, that he hated himself so much that he wasn't able to reconcile the reality where really, he was more like his loser, I mean, I want to say queer here, but I am not that, I mean, the word is non-typical, but nobody uses that term, but his non-typical son, who, I mean, if my father feels any way like I feel like right now, I mean, he was exactly 30 years older than me when I was born, and I am exactly 30 years older than G, I mean, it just makes me wonder is all. because also, that fucker shared the exact same work ideas that I have. I mean, the cost/benefit of it all, I mean, Pegleg told me about when he was dying they had this agreement, years and years before, that our dad would pay these bills and my mom would pay these other bills, which would allow our dad to do things like hunt for the secret snake in the badlands, and our dad, my dad, dying on a couch, not being about to do much but be in pain, one of his last actions was to get up from the couch, go into his studio and write a check to our mom for the bills he owed for December. I mean, my point is, he was a man of principle, but his priorities somehow got out of whack with reality somewhere along the line.

I mean, I guess my point is that I feel guilty about talking shit about the dude, but it is just weird to have a whole life thinking one thing and then the opposite being true, but then at the same time that fucker called Bill Clinton, Slick Willy the entire time he was in office, which, I mean, I don't really remember his politics too much, and I have pondered about this quite a bit about whether he would support Trump or not, and I don't have the answer to that question, because if he already down the rabbit hole in the '90's, I mean, I can't see my dad using a computer, he was analog to the max, and maybe he would have been old enough to reject the technology, but who the hell knows? I mean, he spent a lot of time at the library, I could see it, one day, they have some computers set up, he walks over there to, I don't know, pick up the new Dick Pachinko book, wearing his 36x36 Levi’s that me and all of my brothers had to wear because nobody could have their own pants, because why have different pants when these sailboat sails could fit us all? I mean, I could see him sitting down at the new fangled thing and going onto Facebook and looking something up, maybe at first it is innocuous, but then slowly, I mean, quite slowly, suddenly he is talking to Rocky at NAPA about the crisis at the border, then he is getting his oil changed and he and Mel are suddenly engaged in a conversation about Obama's birth certificate, and then, I mean, maybe he goes back to the library and does some research, I mean, all I am saying is that I wouldn't put it past him, I mean, he did seem to have a lot of free-time, and he was already pre-disposed to thinking there was a very, how do you say, natural way the world should work, where boys like his faggot son needed to get a head injury in order to prove he is a man. Like maybe his child needed to be abused by the system to get right. I'm just sayin'.

I mean, how did we get here? There is no accounting for taste ATBMS. [As the bridesmaids say.] Just a reminder. I mean, I don't mean to harp on my dad all day long, but I am going through some shit, so it is nice to get some perspective. Thus:

[Insert Bar Photo]

[Insert They Will Not Destroy Us]