[264] Screed City

[264]

09/19/2023 Tuesday. Kitchen Microwave. Queens House. Ridgewood, NY

Funny things that happened since last time:

1:

I went to the dentist to get a haircut. Just joking. I did go to the dentist though. On a Saturday nonetheless! Gotta love the City, man. I showed up early. They brought me in early. I waited two seconds before the x-rayer started taking x-rays of my chompers. Then when she was done, 20 seconds went by and the hygienist came in and started cleaning my teeth. Chipping what I can only assume was gravel off of my teeth. When she was done I spit into the little plastic spittoon ’ and, I won't lie, a rock came out of my mouth. She was so proud of her work that she handed me a mirror to have a look-see. Then the doctor came in. Rooted around in my mouth for a while, mumbled some things about how I should really...I don't even know what she said, it was a drive-by mouthing. Then the hygienist came back, sold me a $200 electric toothbrush, sent me out to the receptionist, I scheduled two more cleanings, deep-cleanings, for next Saturday and the following Saturday. Paid $410 and grabbed my electric toothbrush and hit the skids. I mean, I wasn't even supposed to have a cleaning in Vermont until November 11th for crying in the night. And! All of my work is scheduled at 2:30! I mean, I thought they wouldn't let me schedule an appointment at that hour. Like how buildings don't have 13th floors or whatever. I was joking when I asked for it and she said, Sure!

[insert smile photo]

I mean, she did do a great job, but this is the beginning of a long and expensive journey, not the end, and who knows, maybe I say fuck it, pull 'em all out, throw some Hollywoods in there and just be done with it. I mean, it's funny about tooth care, or really any health related care in America. Them fuckers were efficient. I was shoved in, molested and spit out like tooth gravel in less than an hour. But so what? It's not like I had a consultation. They took x-rays in the spring too. And I have been seen by no fewer than six people poking their grubby meat hooks into my food threshold, yet somehow none of them can talk to each other? I don't know, it's just weird. I will say though that the next bit of work I am getting done is going to be $1,200 cheaper than getting it done in Vermont. Why? I am sure you are asking yourself. Because in Vermont there is exactly 3 dentists in the entire state, in NYC, there apparently are one million. This place was great. The only reason I picked it was because it had a slot open on a Saturday. But strangely, or awesomely for me, but who knows for them, I was the only guy in the entire place. Including the waiting room. Which, as somebody who grew up with four brothers, who lived like a bum from the years of 17 to 27, I mean, hygiene, well, I am saying I taught myself how to take care of myself. And it wasn't a man who taught me about mouth care. My point is that I trust the female vibe with regards to teeth WAY more than the male vibe. Really, any doctoring. Or finance, or government, or Society in general. I mean, I mean, if you want dicks to be cunts about bullshit, get a man to do it, if you want actual understanding and pragmatic reality to exist, well, get a nice set of tits and some high heels. AYO!!!

2:

I got a job. Not the job I wanted, but I did ask for a job, so that is good, maybe. It didn't solve anything, that is, unless what I wanted was to be tired and dusty and fear for my health and to take two showers a day and be greatly underpaid and not work on any of the projects I plan on using my golden year of life for. I mean, right? 45, isn't that like the good one for writers? Authers? The sweet spot before you drop dead from alcoholism because Cormac McCarthy accuses you of Communism? Dashiel Hammond only wrote five books. I think that is crazy! And one of them, considered one of the top, I mean, hold on, I can't be making that statement when he only wrote five books and one of his top three, fucking bullshit, but of his books, all of them good, two of them great, and there was the really weird one that I loved that I feel like I accidentally re-wrote one time, but that is not my point, I don't even know what my point is, he wrote one book that is well received and I don't like it very much, but it did leave a lasting impression on me, so maybe that is good? Anyway, he was a Commie and he died because of alcohol. That is my point. And now I have a job. Kind of.

Remember when I sawed through that gas pipe a few months ago? How we are probably living in an alternate universe because of it. I mean, me specifically, but you too because you are also here? That job came back with a vengeance. GUT RENO II: CURSE OF THE MONEY PIT. They did nothing when I was gone. And I was gone for months. MONTHS. I mean, spiritually the job is great. PW stopped me the other day to tell me this story. We were taking metal studs from the basement to the third floor. It was a loud and simple operation, but it involved three flights of stairs and banging metal and corners. She stopped on the stoop and sat down. It was kind of like something from Disney, I mean, who the hell stops in the middle of anything work related to tell you a story? I mean, with no relation to anything. Or slight relation, but she wasn't like, "That fucker Stefan, let me tell you what he did." She literarily, not figuratively, sat down and took her gloves off and told me this story:

"So I had my niece over on Sunday. You know, my brother's kid. You know it was pretty good and you know, I picked him up from [Brooklyn] and it was like this block party and he was like having a good time and whatever and you know we are over here and whatever and he you know goes to some other block party and what else, and you know the kid starts pre-k the next day, Monday, like for the first time, you know, school, so he has to get up at like seven in the morning and you know he doesn't, I mean, my brother, I never see him this way, he doesn't show up till at least, you know, midnight and he is stumbling around and drunk as a god damn skunk and he's supposed to take his kid home and I'm like, no way in hell, you lie down on that couch asshole and we can talk in the morning.

"Anyway, in the morning he was trying to tell me it was nothing, he was like, I didn't do this, I didn't do that, I didn't you know, throw up or whatever and I tried to tell him your joke but I couldn't remember how it started, so..."

This entire lead up was because she was trying to tell her brother this stupid fucking joke about blowing Chunks. She sat me down like a fucking child to like Jiminy Cricket to let me know that she had an opportunity to use this stupid joke that I told her just a few days ago that has been bouncing around in my ping-pong brain for three decades at this point. I mean, it was quite great. I said:

"Oh, yeah, well, there is no real beginning. You just have to think of something bad about getting drunk, like, I got so drunk last night I shit myself and then I fell asleep on the toilet and woke up on the bathroom floor."

"Oh, right."

"'That's nothing! I got so drunk last night I blew Chunks.' 'Whatever, I threw up too.' 'Chunks is my dog.'"

3:

This is kind of globally hilarious. A real, across the board kind of thing. My friend Ray, who is in this band Teenage Bottle Rocket, a guy I know from Laramie, Wyoming when I was working at the Taco John's in the late 90's who was working there too, who took this band around the world and has had some pretty decent success, which is fantastic, and, I mean, the band is great, I love to watch them play, but their merch game is top notch, which is beside the point, but because like all art, mine included, time is an important element to how you do things. I mean, back in the beginning, when they would play, it was a wild scene, mosh pits, pogo dancing, ear assault. Crowd surfing. But 1998 is not 2023. The following they have is impressive, but like all things rock and roll, you can still love to watch a band when you are older, well, maybe when you are in your 40's watching a band you loved in your 20's you don't behave the same way. And Ray, to his hilarious credit, acknowledge this on stage. He took a moment, a brief one, where the bass player was strumming a high C and the drummer was was doing, what did he say? 121 BPM? Beats per minute. Fast. Very fast. And Ray was like:

"Hey! Listen, I am going to ask you to do something that I wouldn't normally do myself, you know, I am the kind of guy that hangs out in the back of shows like this and dips out before the band is over, but I don't know, I am up here, now, I'm forty-five, it's rough, but I want you to do something, for twenty seconds, just twenty seconds, I want you guys to pogo." The crowd cheered. But it was a nervous cheer. Ray egged them on. I mean, I was in the crowd at this point, but Professor Curly had ditched and I was holding a 24 ounce beer that cost me $16. What was I going to do? Put it on the floor? I had to take out a loan to buy the fucking thing, I wasn't going to lose a single drop, I'll tell you that much.

But he did it. He got the 112 mostly older adults, and some geriatrics and a few youngsters to start pogo-ing, the trampoline maneuver for dance floors. It was impressive. Sadly, by second 12 the geezers started just bending their knees instead off bouncing, and in the end the crowd was looking around to see who made it and who didn't like a first world war fighting trench. "Isn't this fucked up?!" "Where's Wooly?!" "I don't know!" "You're bleeding!" "Where is my hand?!" "What?!" "What?!" "Fuck!"

I mean, it was quite the scene. Because Ray was rocking his ass off and everyone watching was picturing where they last put the Ibuprofen. Or maybe I am projecting. I did have to get up at the butt-crack of dawn the next day and Thursday rock show? Are you out of your mind? But I did buy a t-shirt for G and a hoodie for Professor Curly and the band before them had a trans male singer, which was awesome to see, and TBR rocked the place down, I mean, I don't know, it gives me ideas about punk and punk rock and aging and modern punk and modern punk rock and modern aging. I am already here, so it is simple, but like I said before, it is a global thing. Working class artists fucking shit up day by day, trying to get ahead. It's a thing.

[insert Teenage Bottle Rocket Sick Vid]

4:

This isn't hilarious or funny, but maybe it is. Two things or three. Donkey [Italics] is now out on Audible:

[insert Donkey link]

https://www.audible.com/pd/Donkey-Audiobook/B0CJ95BNKB

We are doing show at Tom Fruin's Studio October 1st if you are in town. [More details to follow.]

PERCOLATOR [italics] is now finished and will be in the world very soon. A thing Jess Barbagallo calls: "An existential joyride."

Et cetera and et al. Don't let the man keep you down. Brush your teeth. If you shake it more than three times you are playing with it. SEE HOW TOXIC MEN TEACHING MEN ABOUT HYGIENE IS?????????????? Fuck your alpha bullshit, man, wash your fucking ass and brush your fucking teeth.