[224] Screed City
[224]
01/18/2023 Wednesday. Odd Orange Table. Room 219. Holiday Inn Express by the Airport. Albany, New York.
Brother Luke's birthday tomorrow. Happy Birthday, bro!!!
Very bizarre day. Started regular, but then got odd, and then got really boring, and then got entertaining and then was fun and now I am here clackity clacking about it. I mean, it was a luxurious start, 530a wake up. Didn't need to be to Troy until 8a. And the job was quite straight forward until it wasn't. The Theatre, which they used that spelling, because I don't know, classing up the joint? I mean, the place hadn't been upgraded since the 70's, all the lighting and drapes and sound equipment was from now defunct companies, the stage itself was a death trap, both in terms of rigging and from catching fire and burning to the ground. The fire curtain had been serviced recently, but it did not meet industry standards so some things happened that I am not at liberty to divulge, but our job was finished by 10a.
[Insert Weird Painting Photo]
I mean, the two guys that we interacted with were a couple of hoots. Both in, I want to say, 60's? With bald heads. I mean, one of them had a mustache and wore an Ivy Cap. Like he was some kind of suburban London husband. Or, I mean, I guess he reminded me of the husband from Keeping Up Appearances. But both of them had worked as volunteer rescue crews for the fire department, so they had some knowledge about things, which was unusual. And they seemed quite bemused with the situation they found themselves in. I mean, they were pragmatic and forthright, but some politics seemed to have gotten involved and the way we left, I mean, the phrase; Above our pay grade ATBMS, comes to mind.
But one thing happened that was very unexpected was this:
[Insert Ben Franklinstein Photo]
I mean! That is what me called Josh Nylon all those years ago, playing in the DISHWASHERS. I mean, fate? Kismet? Serendipity? A little on the nose? Or whatever. I mean, having DISHWASHERS on the brain and all. But we called him that because he was bald on top and had long hair and he looked like Frankenstein's monster. But then somebody went and wrote a musical about it. I wish I could have seen it.
After that we went back to the hotel. Scott did some computer work while I ate a mid-morning lunch, talked to Professor Curly on the phone for a bit, and then took a 15 minute nap. After that there was absolutely nothing to do. It was exhausting. I mean, the holiday on Monday really put the screws to my podcast listening enjoyment, and as much as I wanted to make a poster for the book launch, I was not feeling particularly inspired, so I just kind of hung around doing nothing, feeling trapped and bored and wondering what the hell I was doing in a hotel room by the Albany airport at noon on a Wednesday.
I mean, I couldn't take it after a while, so I brushed my teeth, put my shoes back on and went for a walk. I ended up at the Bed, Bath & Beyond, that is after I walked by the IHOP, the closed Starbucks, which I am sure was one of the ones that was in the news that got shut down because they unionized, that was next to a Men's Warehouse, I mean, this stretch of road is a real big slice of Americana, I mean, the B,B&B was depressing as hell, in a sense, I mean, the people working there seemed incredibly miserable, aside from my youthful nearly half a century sprite young vibes, everyone else was at least late 70's, pushing shopping carts around with nothing in them, perusing the kitchen goods, I mean, I was perusing those too, I mean, if only, if only I had some real money. I'd buy a stand mixer, a decent pots and pans set, a decent waffle maker, a colander that doesn't rust, I mean, they even had high end chafing dishes for sale, I mean, by high end I mean, not exactly Chinese tinfoil, but really what I was looking for was a can opener that didn't bend when you used it, and I had asked G's mom over Christmas about the one she had, and she had a glowing review for the OXO Good Grips Soft-Handled version. I mean, $20 bucks for a can opener? It was a hard choice, but I made it, it wasn't like buying shoes, I mean, the thing would last longer than shoes, so that was more stressful, but if it was wrong, I mean, it had to be better than the one I currently have, which I literally have to bend back into structure in order to use it, and it skips about half an inch of can lid for every two inches it cuts, I mean, I have to back up and twist forward over and over again like I am driving a car stuck in the snow, but for cans, and not a car, but a can opener.
I mean, I walked around the store for probably another 30 minutes, checked out the electric toothbrushes, wondered why some of them cost $20 dollars and others cost $400 dollars, but as I was in no position to find out, I moved on. Checking out was quite odd. The cashier was an older woman wearing a mask with a very hands off approach to cashiering. I mean, she was checked out, even though it was me that was checking out, she was an irony in human form, but somehow I clawed my way out of the check-out line and made it outside. The can opener in my pocket, the world like some hairy juicy pearl nestled in an oyster that needed my tongue as a key to unlock the proverbial lips of. Or something. I mean, I had some time on my hands still. So I walked to the street light, pushed the walk button and waited a good five minutes for the light to change. Cars whizzing by at 45 mph, it was cold, rainy, gross, everything gross about American culture, right there in front of me. I finally crossed and started walking towards the Barnes and Nobles. I mean, I didn't realize it, but I was walking towards a true and honest mall. Like a real mall. A mall mall. An American mall. And I won't lie, my emotions brightened considerably when this dawned on me. I thought I was just going to some depressing book store that only sold books that people who don't read read. The Mike Pence and Michelle Obama kind of books, the miles and miles of Manga, the truly disorganized and confusing cook book section that makes me want to pull my hair out, all the "Classics" with their "Modern" covers.
But no. I was walking into an American mall, and I could not have been more happy about it. I walked by the Cheesecake Factory, looked inside, all the happy people having lunch, in the mall, happy because they were in the mall, I mean, I walked by a store the sold signs that said stuff like; Farts Make Me Happy. I mean, I didn't go into that store because the guy behind the counter looked like he might take a gun out and start shooting things, mostly himself, I mean, this is America, right. I mean, I walked into the middle of the mall and took in the splendor. And as I was making a plan of how to tackle all the stores I wanted to go into, the first thing I saw was a store that sold calendars. I mean, just the other day I was in Middlebury looking for calendars. I was in the market for a few of them. At least one for home, one for Professor Curly in the City and one for G and one for Grit. And I drove around looking to no avail. Not the Hannaford's or the Walgreen's or the other pharmacy or the TJ Maxx, so I ended up going into the dollar store in Middlebury that I had never even seen before, and they had a bunch of great cheap Chinese calendars and I got a kitten one for home, a horses one for G and a cute animals one for Grit. I mean, I was not going to go onto the computer to get one if I could help it, and I was not un-satisfied.
Fast forward to today. I mean! They were having a 75% discount on all calendars. ALL of them, I mean, those things are expensive, $20 bucks a pop. But at 75% off, suddenly the world was my slippery cunnilingus oyster all over again. I mean, it was great. There were hundreds of them. I could barely control my glee. But because I had so many options it took me an hour to pick anything out. I mean:
[Insert Calendar Photo]
All of them were like this! I mean, I ended up buying a ginger cats one for Professor Curly because she loves cats and is a ginger, and a classy cats one for G because they love classy cats, Shiver, I found out today, G's gutter cat the showed up one day at their back door in Brooklyn all those years ago, it's her birthday today. 10! Happy Birthday, Shiver! I mean, Shiver is my favorite cat. And she is quite classy. I mean, supposedly her legs are shrinking so she isn't as classy as she used to be, but I didn't notice at Christmas.
I mean, I was quite elated and didn't mind spending the $10 dollars. It was quite the bargain. I mean, it was also cool that the guy that ran the store was Indian and he was blaring Indian news in the background. I mean, living in Vermont is kind of gross that way, as much as we are trying our best to lure people up into the state that aren't rich White people, I mean, as long as leaf peeping and skiing are the only reason to go there, that and cheap Summer homes and long six month miserable winters, I mean, there is no work, and everyone is grumpy and muddy and White, and did I mention grouchy and unpleasant and White? I mean, you get more flies with honey ATBMS. And there aint no honey in Vermont, only syrup and that shit is expensive as hell.
I mean, after my purchase I kind of cruised around, looking around, dangling around, I noticed that there were countless mall walkers, elders walking back and forth, up and down the stairs, getting exercise, I even saw some youths holding hands, going into the sports stores, the weird Cake Museum, I mean, it was great, all of it was great, there were escalators, everyone knows I love a good escalator, and later I found out there was a food court! A food court! With a hot dog stand even. I mean, I went into the Christmas Tree Store or whatever the hell it is called, where you can buy all thing related to holidays plus more, I mean, they had a clearance rack for Christmas shirts, but none of them were any good, sadly, and for some reason nearly half of their inventory was nautical themed, butwhatever, you don't shop for the cheap Chinese goods at the cheap Chinese goods store you want, you can only shop at the cheap Chinese goods store you have ATBMS.
I mean, I won't lie to you that I was quite exhausted by the time I was done with that store, however, it occurred to me that I had no choice but to go to the Barnes and Nobles in order to check on the mystery of The Moon In A Glass [Italics,] by Joey Truman. I mean, it would be self-interest malfeasance had I ignored it. Had I not at least checked. And it was kind of a big check. I mean, what is my style? Or what is the nature of the style that my AI books would consider me to be? Fiction? Romance? Historical fiction? I mean, I do have that one anti-Nazi book, horror? I do have the one horror book about poor Whitey. Science fiction? Classics? I mean, DISHWASHER is merely a rip-off of Hunger [Italics] by the Nazi sympathizer Knut Hamsun. I mean, cook books? Cooking Cockroach [Italics] has recipes in it. I mean, I am all over the place, and if the AI is just imitating me, I mean, I really could be anywhere. That is, [Enter Womp-womp noise] HAHA, it just occurred to me for the first time I should have a sound board for this writing. Shit! How do I do that? I used to be so good at making samples, fucking ProTools, why did you have to go away? What, am I supposed to start using GarageBand again? Like hell! Maybe it is time to get the 404 running again, but then what? It's not like I can live DJ you reading this shit. I mean, maybe I can connect the 404 to my phone and the Substack thing and whenever somebody pushes the sound button I get a notification and then I can press a button that makes a; Womp-womp noise? You listening Zuckerberg? Or do you got sunscreen in your ears? Remember that photo of him surfing? HAHA.
Anyway, I had to peruse the entire store, and it was a little much. I got nothing. Nothing from me, nothing from James Oseland, nothing from Keith Ridgway, Dennis Cooper, I mean, there was no poetry section I could find, nor a theater section, whatever that means, but there was sure a lot of James Paterson. A shit load even. And if hurts my feelings to even mention his name, because like all things natural, the bullshit dick who has the biggest bullshit amplifier gets amplified bullshiterally, but I can't make my point if I don't have the reference to make my point with. What do they call that? A fuckeroo in disguise? Squeaky cunt disease? I mean, that hack, well, I take that back, he is not exactly a hack, he just wrote quite a fantastic book that became quite a fantastic movie, but then because he was so successful he thought what made him good was his weird plots, and not his almost accidental main-lining of White male grievance that is both scary and a real thing, I mean, no offense, because I don't actually care that much, well, not as much as I care about the Picasso narrative that exists in arts these days, but still, you read one good book and it is great and then you give the guy the benefit of the doubt ATBMS for a few more books, and then, in the end, you feel like a suckered rube for falling for the scam, I mean, I understand that the one book about the porn star fucking all those men for like 24 hours is supposed to be a modern; The Kill Horses, Don't They [Italics,] but tiresome prose with such obvious plot holes isn't really transgressive if they way you write is edging "Research" until you end up creaming your own jeans with how clever and removed you are from your actual writing. I am talking of course about Chuck Palahniuk. I mean, fool me once, shame on Uranus ATBMS. But there were quite a few of his books there.
And I don't know. I don't really care, not in the global sense of things. Bookstores are a dying business, Rocket Dick himself personally destroyed them on purpose, and so what? Good for him. I mean, it was always a gate keepers world anyway, but the one thing I did take offense to was the January 6th book that was stacked up like sandbags to our democracy. I mean, yes! Everyone should read that, but do it on line and for free, the fact that the New York Fucking Times is the publisher makes me want to punch society right in the fucking dick. FUCK YOU. That book should be free, handed out on street corners, not giving the disgusting NY TIMES $Five dollars every time somebody buys it. Probably more. Considering how cheaply it was printed. I mean, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU, YOU GOD DAMNED VAMPIRES.
It really is unbelievable, and you wonder why nobody gives a shit anymore. Just as long as you can both-sides it and turn a tidy profit, who cares if America falls over a cliff and dies an inglorious death, as long as you got enough profits to move forward and the billionaires don't have to pay taxes, same shit mother fucking same fucking day.
Okay, I got worked up there a bit, let's maybe relax a little and calm down, but fucking hell, we need a small publishing collective now and soon, and we need to stop this bullshit New York Times best sellers list lie that means absolutely nothing and is destroying decent, hardworking artists because it creates a false-equivalency of what is art versus what is being read. And I really hope this AI thing is real. That all of the hacks in the world get replaced by robots, because they were all robots to begin with, and if all you need to succeed in the business is a AP creative writing credit and a few connected "Patrons" to make it in the book business, I mean, let them eat each other out, like some slippery wet pearl hidden in hairy salty oyster lips, I mean, pry it out for Jesus.
I mean, I need to switch gears real quick, but I don't know how to, so here is a palette cleanser:
[Insert Pablo Picasso By The Modern Lovers]
Anyway, me and Scott ended up going back to Troy to have dinner with G. And it was very nice. We picked them up from their Harry Potter School For Miscreants. I mean, their school blows my mind every time. I can't go into details, but my lord, the high school I went to, I mean, they punched me in the balls every time I walked in, told me I was a poor loser, slammed my face into every text book I ever read and then told me I would be a loser for the rest of my life, and then money shamed me at lunch, and then when the day was finally over, I had to go take more abuse at the swimming pool because, I don't know, I needed to learn that everyone older than 19 was an absolute piece of shit? But, god damn it, I got my boot straps thank you!
I mean, I got some calamari and a bowl of Udon noodles, G got some soup and some cucumber rolls and some dumplings. Scott got a who hell of a lot of sushi, and the dinner was fantastic, and it was funny because we showed up in the work van and them dropped them off again in the work van, and I mean, it was a little weird that there was no security to greet us either time, and showing up to a high school in a white Sprinter van and nobody says nothing? It makes me nervous, but Scott reassured me it was okay, because of money, I mean, I don't expect G to go around getting into random white work vans, they are very suspect about everything, naturally, but it was dark and I worry about my child, constantly.
Anyway, I guess that is it. We have a half-day tomorrow. Doing an inspection in Troy, again. And then back to Vermont. I mean, on Sunday I am going to the City. To get ready for the party. There is supposed to be a big snow storm on Saturday, so hopefully that doesn't fuck things up. I mean, Scott needs help pulling 500 feet of hose and a pump out of the Compound's well between now and then, maybe that can happen on Friday. I mean, if you care, I don't think I will be reporting anything until next week, if at all, so savor these sentences while you can, because it could be a while. Do me a favor and slide your slippery eel-like tongue into my hairy oyster and search for my pearl. Keep your head up ATMBS. Spring is coming, supposedly, and one day, when this is all over, we will have a good laugh about it!
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