[98] Screed City

[98]

02/16/2022 Wednesday. Jonny's Studio. 113th Street. Harlem, NYC.

Well, I made it. Tomorrow is the big day. The drive down was uneventful, for the most part. I took highways the whole way. No interstates. I mean, I did end up on the Taconic for the last sixty miles or so. But that is a Parkway. No trucks allowed. It was a little frustrating getting out of Beaver Haus. I didn't prepare myself very well. I mean, I cleaned and stuff. Watered the plants. Made sure my homemade Ticklers were bubbling nicely. I am trying a new yeast. Champagne-style. I am hoping to get a more crisp-style of Tickler. We'll see. I packed okay. Remembered to pack the books and the lighting pole. Some Dishwasher t-shirts. I printed out some forms. One is a sign-up sheet for Screed City, the other is a QR code for my phone money thing. Books are $15 dollars. It also says the donations are welcome. I mean, that way we can use the honor system. Nobody needing to man the merch table. I still don't know if I will sell the t-shirts or just give them away. I mean, I should probably do something like give away a t-shirt if you pre-order Dishwasher. I mean, I feel like that is something I would need to do in person, so the honor system will probably break down, that or most likely I will just give them away.

Oh my god. I bought these Ticklers, or what I thought were Ticklers, but they are not Ticklers. They are called Corona Refresca. Tropical cocktail. Holy shit they suck. They are both heavy and sweet. 200 calories per can. And I can't tell if they taste like mold or if they is just how they are flavored. PassionFruit Lime for crying in the night. Coconut Lime. Guava Lime. Truly disgusting. But what can you do? There is no turning back now.

Where was I? Oh, and I mean that, Oh, this is meant to be a little performative. I am planning on reading this tomorrow on stage, so excuse the theatrics. But where was I? The trip down. I mean, it was easy. Fast enough. I got gas at some point. I packed some burritos to eat. Peanuts. Sunflower seeds. I made a mocha. Filled an old Diet Coke bottle with water. I mean, I packed some shirts and some socks. My other usual stuff that lives in my travel bag. Toothbrush and stuff. My route took me through Chatham. Which I wish I would have known that beforehand, I have some t-shirts for G. I would have stopped and dropped them off. But by that time I was confused about the route and I didn't want to stop. I mean, they were in school anyway. I guess I could have said hello to their mom. But I didn't. I kept driving.

Oh, I also packed Professor Curly's mail and tax stuff. I put it in a Hannaford's grocery bag. Put it in the trunk. Along with the books. But as I was driving down the Taconic my elbow did something weird with the door. A loud clank sounded. I got confused. Tried to mess around and find out what it was that happened. I accidentally pulled the lever for the trunk to open. Going 65 miles per hour down the Parkway. I couldn't believe it. The Taconic is the kind of road that doesn't have shoulders. So there was no way to pull over, I had to wait for a turn out. I slowed the car to 45 miles per hour. Turned the emergency blinkers on. Cars roared by me. Looking annoyed. I watched the trunk lid in the rearview mirror. Flopping up and down. I expected Professor Curly's tax papers and mail to go flying out. I mean, it reminded me of when I was drying through Tensleep Canyon once and somebody had lost what looked like a manuscript out their car. How they did this, I do not know. But as I was approaching the person was standing in the road, waiting for the traffic to thin out so they could grab the thing. But the thing is, because the person was standing in the road it forced me to drive into the oncoming lane. Which, I mean, I still feel bad about this, when I was forced over it put the right wheel in line with the stack of papers. And it was a big stack. After I ran over I looked in the rearview mirror. There was a storm of papers flapping in the breeze. The woman frantically trying to retrieve them. I mean, I don't know if this happened or if I am just choosing remember it this way, but I remember her shaking her fist at me at the same time. I mean, like I said, I still feel guilty about this.

I mean, back to the Taconic, I slowed down pretty good. Then there was a sign that said Parking Turnout 2 Miles. So I drove for two more miles. Slow as I could go without causing a crash or getting run over. The trunk lid flopping up and down. I mean, I got lucky because by the time I got to the pull-out no papers had flown into the winds. I pulled in. Parked. There were two cars in the parking lot. Well, one car and a truck. The guy in the car was asleep. I don't know what was going on with the guy in the truck. I got out. Went to the trunk. Looked inside. Everything was fine. I slammed the trunk lid down. Got back in Junior Mint and hauled ass to Yonkers.

I had to stop in Yonkers to get some keys from Jonny's mom. I tried to send her a text message earlier, but I typed in the wrong number. I didn't notice until I got VT 7 because there is no cell service in most of Vermont. I mean, I checked my messages, kind of, I was driving so it was mostly just a glance. But I had a message that was telling me the number I texted for Jonny's mom was a landline. I mean, I called the Publisher. Asked her if she knew Jonny's mom's number. She did. She gave it to me. I called the number. It went to voicemail. I left a message:

"Um, hi [Jonny's mom.]" I mean, I used her actual name, but that is information that does not belong to the world. So it is private. "This is Joey Truman. Um, so I texted you at a number that was wrong. I will be in Yonkers around three-ish. Um, hopefully you get this. I don't know if people listen to voicemails anymore, so maybe you won't get this. I will try and text when I get a chance. See you in a few."

I mean, I don't know if people listen to voicemails anymore. I don't. Too many shitty passive-aggressive assholes in the world:

"Hey dude, call me back."

"Hey asshole, call me back!"

"He fucko, answer your phone!"

"Holy shit, your voicebox is empty, what a luxury, call me back fucko."

"I'll keep calling, I'll keep calling."

"Why don't you ever answer your phone? Call me back."

I mean, at some point I just didn't even bother anymore. Either let me call you back when I get the time, or, I don't know, maybe call me back again? I mean, I just don't understand why it is an affront to people when you miss their phone call. I don't get it. And making me feel shitty about it doesn't mean I want to call you back, especially when I know that what you are calling about it probably nonsense anyway. Send a fucking text if it is that important, otherwise have a little patience. I mean, right? I can't be the only one that feels this way. And if it was an emergency, I mean, I would think that you would just keep calling until I answered. Or, I don't know, something else. I mean, in the shitty 22 years that I have had to have a stupid phone on me at all times, so I guess people could reach me because everything is so fucking important that you need a phone on you at all times. I mean, not once, not a single time has it been an emergency that I missed because I didn't answer my phone. I mean, I have received delayed horrible news, but emergency? No. Not once. I mean, I am not saying it can't or won't happen, but back in the day when I would let the phone go to voicemail and have to listen to dickwads tell me I am an asshole because I missed their fucking phone call about something stupid, I mean, whatever.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, Jonny's mom. So when I got to Yonkers I went to Jonny's mom's house. She answered the door when I knocked on it. No, I rang the doorbell. She answered the door when I rang the doorbell. She was very annoyed with me. I tried to explain myself. She was not having it. "You were supposed to call. I didn't know you were coming." She said. I said "But I did call, I even left you a message." Then she said "It doesn't matter." Still annoyed. I tried to explain myself again. She wasn't having it. We talked about keys and Jonny's apartment and how to get the keys back to her. Then she decided I should text her my phone number. I called her with my phone. The thing rang on her end from the computer she had opened. She said her phone was upstairs and she would check it later. Then I gave her a copy of Etiquette and said thanks and I would be in touch. I went back out to Junior Mint. Put Jonny's address into my phone. For directions. Started driving. I got a phone call from Jonny's mom. She seemed excited. She said:

"You did call! I just didn't answer because it said Worland, Wyoming, I don't know anyone from Worland, Wyoming. In fact, I don't know anyone from Wyoming." And I said:

"You do now!" Then we talked a little more. I said I would be in touch. Drove down to Harlem. Parked right out front. Took my bag up to Jonny's. Using his mom's keys to get in. Called Professor Curly to tell her I was there. She was coming soon. She had to get her bangs cut first. I called Jack, to see what he was up to. He said he was at his studio. That I should come over. I waited around for Professor Curly. When she showed up we said hello and stuff. I said I should get going. I gave her the keys I found in the drawer on the far left of the kitchen counter. Keys I checked to make sure worked, both the apartment door and the building door. I said I would be back later. I hit the skids. Taking the train to Willy B. Which, I mean, the trains. The fucking trains. And they hurt even more when you have been living in free-wheeling Vermont. I mean, I don't know. If I don't have covid now, I am sure I will get it before this trip is through. I mean, I hope not, I got work on Sunday, but still. I mean, people are still pretty good about wearing masks on the train, but you cram all those people in those sardine cans, I mean, for an hour at a time. I mean. I mean.

I got to Willy B. Bought a twelve pack of Modelo. Took it to Jack's studio. We caught up for a while. Drank beer. Played some tunes. Talked some more. Eventually I left. Got back on the train. Took the L train to Eighth Avenue. Then it turned out the A/C was running on the Sixth Avenue line. I took the L train back to Sixth Avenue. Waited and waited. Finally the train came. I got on. It was a weird one. I didn't understand what was happening. Half the train was un-housed people. The other half of the train was people afraid that the un-housed would somehow hurt their feelings if they sat next to them. I didn't care. I sat down. Wishing I had something to read. I didn't. As I was sitting there an un-housed man who had some very prevalent mental health issues asked me for some money. I took my wallet out. Tried to hand him two dollars. He wouldn't take it. He started yelling at me:

"Give me twenty dollars! I want twenty. I have a family. Give me the twenty!" As he is doing this spit is flying out of the corners of his mouth and hitting me in the face. I am trying to hand him the two dollars. He won't take it. I keep pushing it towards him. He keeps yelling "I want twenty! I got a family! Give me twenty!" At this point I just want him to go away. I didn't appreciate how much he was spitting on me. He wouldn't back up. I was doing some hand motions to get him to go away. The half of the train that was afraid of poor people were staring at us aghast. The un-housed people were also looking, but they were just annoyed. They were sleeping at first, now this guy was causing trouble. I mean, I don't know what they were thinking, but if it was me I would have been thinking that this guy is going to get us all in trouble causing a scene like this. One of the guys got up and kind of got in the un-well guys way. So he had to back up. At that point he took my two dollars. Scooted away. I mean, I guess to go demand money from someone else? I don't know. I felt sorry for him. The guy that helped me sat back down. He said "Fucking cockroach! That guy is a cockroach." I mean, this made me very sad. The fact that there is some hierarchy in the ranks of un-housed people living on subway cars. The fact that half the train just wanted it to go away. To pretend it wasn't happening. The fact that there is no help for any of these poor people. I mean, I mean poor in the lack of money way, but also mean poor in the, these poor souls who just want to live their lives but shit it just too fucked up and nobody really cares. I mean, I know people care, it is just the problem is systematic, there is no amount of money you can hand out on a train that will help anyone out. I mean, the person might use it for food or something, something to take the edge off, but it doesn't matter. Tomorrow, yesterday, the next few hours, the next few minutes, I mean, nothing will change for them. They are human beings that need help. I mean, whatever. I spent the rest of the train ride thinking about how to help these people. How it would be possible. But I came up with nothing. Nothing but sadness. I mean, there is all sorts of things we could actually do. Like, I mean, not allow landlords to buy up all the property and rent it back to us for amounts we can't afford. We could change those laws. Make more affordable housing. Have more people out every night trying to connect with these people. Get them into shelters. Feed them. Give them some dignity back. I mean, I don't know. We could at least care and try. That, or we could bring Giuliani back and put them in buses and ship them to New Jersey so nobody has to look at them. Or we bring God in and send them to predatory places like Covenant House so they can get raped by priests. I mean, I know there a thing out there that is dedicated to fixing this problem, but I mean, just raising money from guilty wealthy people to pay for people to go out and give people blankets and food doesn't do shit. I mean, we need housing laws. We need them yesterday. We need them decades ago. The fact that you can't rent a place in NYC for longer than a year without having your rent increase, I mean, that is bullshit. And I don't want to hear about markets and supply and demand bullshit. We have plenty of housing, we just choose not to give it to poor people because we are a nation of selfish lying assholes who think the poor deserve every bit of suffering they get because, I don't know, god? I mean, you must be stupid if you are poor otherwise you wouldn't be poor, right? I mean, god makes you rich by making you smart, therefore got makes you poor by making you stupid. Those are just facts.

But hey! Let's get back to the laughs. I mean, me and Professor Curly went to Ridgewood today to check out some apartments. The two we saw were nice. $2,000 dollars a month though. I mean, we still don't know what we are going to do when the thing in Philly is done in June. I mean, I would love to figure out how to be in Vermont and NYC at the same time. But coming up with $3,200 dollars a month is going to be very difficult. I mean, it is not a problem if there is work coming in. But I don't know if I want to work full-time just to pay someone else's taxes for them. I mean, Professor Curly needs to be in the City. I just need to be somewhere. Either in Vermont or in the City. It doesn't matter, for work that is. But still, I mean, Professor Curly makes her money the old fashioned way. I mean, she is an artist. Her income depends on her personal success. There is no guarantees. This last year was very good for her, next year? Who know? Art is fickle as a motherfucker. I mean, you can't pay your rent with Art's Futures, right? I mean, whatever. It is funny to have one conversation about getting people off the streets because they can't afford housing and then switch over to a conversation about having two houses that you may or may not be able to afford. I mean, I understand the irony. But that is the rub, this is the shit that is the problem. I mean, in all things housing, it is in fact Zero Sum. If there are two houses and there are two people looking for houses, if one person takes both houses that means the second person gets zero houses. I mean, and it is not like we are buying this shit up, we are just renting. Paying other people's taxes for the investment that they made because they were lucky enough to have money in the first place. I mean, also, don't give me that boot-strap bullshit either. I shouldn't have to work full-time and focus on one thing only, the acquisition of property just to live in this world. I mean, I don't care for ownership. I find it immoral, but that is just my philosophy, I don't mind renting. I don't need to have a pile of gold to leave for my child when I die. And they shouldn't need that pile of gold just to survive. I mean, you see what I mean? What I mean is, housing is a right, not a privilege.

Fuck! I was supposed to get back to the laughs. I mean, this was supposed to be entertaining, to get you all to sign up for my newsletter, but I went and fucked it up. I mean, at least I am not talking about politics, right? I mean, I have quite a few things to say about things happening right now. But I won't. You want to know why? Why? You ask. I mean, I don't know. I really don't. I mean, I just know nobody wants to hear it. And if I am so inclined to be political I should just run for City Congress. And maybe I will. That will shut you guys up. I mean, you'll see. You can't push Old Joe around anymore. You liberal dipshits.

I mean, I don't know. I have to move the car in the morning. Get the books and lighting pole to Tom's studio at some point. Buy some ice and beer. I mean, I made video for the reading but I think I need to bring my computer to play it. I wish I would have thought about this a little bit. I could have put the shit on a thumb drive or something. Maybe Professor Curly has one? Maybe I can go out and buy one tomorrow. After I go to the bank. After I move the car. After, I mean, I came down here to have a good time and all I do is just go from one place to another. Trying to keep my shit together. Thinking about trains and cars. Computers and books. I mean, the second I wake up on Friday I need to haul ass back to Vermont. Drill some holes in some Maple trees. Chop some wood. Get my shit together for next week. I mean, this fucking racist Albany job it is a real pain in my ass. I mean, it just never ends. I can't catch a break.

Oh! One last thing. We went out to dinner at some place called Rolo's. Murphey came along after a while. We ate fried shrimp and fried potatoes and duck spring rolls and fried greens. There was beer and mixed drinks. Some wine. I mean, and guess what paid for it all? That money I made selling all that stage weight to the scrap yard. In Buffalo. I mean, Murphey paid for her own stuff. I wasn't feeling that rich. But still. First time in what? Two years since we went out like that? I mean, I don't know what I mean. We got carded on the way in. Our waiter wore a mask, but he was the only one working there that did. I don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, as far as I am concerned we already gave up on this shit. Which kind of made it funny to get carded. I forgot I even had my vaxx card in my wallet. I mean, had it not been there I would have had to look for the picture in my phone. Which, I mean, that picture is just a picture of a card that I have. It is all theater. Masks on trains? Not so much. Vaxx cards in restaurants? Where nobody, and I mean nobody aside from our waiter is wearing a mask? Inside. I mean, if anything it just keeps idiots away from enjoying a nice night out. And, I mean, it is not the poor that are stupid, it is the idiots that will give up their freedom to make the point that they couldn't give two shits about their fellow human beings. Even if it is just theater. I mean, as Murphey once put it to the dicks in the elevator who told her fuck off for some reason:

"I hope you enjoy your abortion!" Whatever that means.