March 12, 2012

The First 36 Years

1)       Discordant guitars in place of someone complaining in my ear every twelve minutes

2)       All of those books you read did nothing

3)       The lonesome death of an elderly person to think about

4)       A series of empty sexual experiences in your 20’s, 30’s and 40’s

5)       I’ll only smash them inside my head

6)       He carries weapons around with him. In his jacket, in his car, in his closet

7)       Pussies and chicks liked The Beatles, dudes who loved eating pussy and knew all women were evil and lied liked the Rolling Stones. I liked both, and The Who.

8)       That fat blonde kid Mike pouring out of his denim jacket with the fur lining. He sold us joints and apparently got really fat and ended up dying early

9)       The motel room where every woman ever lies to your face and you fall for it

10)   His life consisted of going to a building fifteen miles from his house every weekday. A large building filled with people we barely talked to. At the beginning of the day he had to type a series of words. At the end of the day he did the same thing. When he came home at night he thought about how he would deal with his duties the following day.

11)   The news hit the town that a new pancake house would be opening. Ted called his friend down the road, Michael. Michael’s wife answered the phone, Ted hung up. “That fat whore” he thought.

12)   Take the sword that you already have and enter a bingo hall/bean supper/buffet restaurant on a Friday night. Find every person named Irene you can. Equip all of the Irenes with swords. Destroy every single human being in sight and then make your way outside where the Irenes and you continue your massacre of everyone ever.

13)   We made our way into the Tina Turner concert so fucked up on cocaine.

14)   I was in Waynesboro, Virgina in 1998 and a woman with a dream catcher tattoo on her leg said to me “I can tell you anything you want to know about the mountains and how they watch us”

15)   A young man gets into a fight outside of a 7-11 and gets hit in the face with a bottle of Snapple diet raspberry iced tea.

16)   Ray Manzerak flavored popsicles

17)   All fucked up on whiskey and Fresca, I soaked the rolled up copy of the February issue of Cat Fancy in gasoline and put it in the gas tank of my enemy’s minivan.

18)   After dinner I would skateboard down to the train station after noticing some long haired kids hanging out there. My house was on a street that ran parallel with the train tracks so you could either walk down the train tracks or skateboard down to where the station was. The train station was a typical small building that was presumably closed for fifty years. Dusty windows offered a look into what was once a fully operational train station. It almost looked as if it was just abandoned at one point and now people were to figure out how to get on the train themselves.

19)   When people who love Stevie Nicks attack

20)   Black Sabbath – The Mob Rules

21)   She got so angry at him that she cried in his Diet Sprite before bringing it into the living room for him

22)   We used to call cigarettes sprayed with Lysol “Mexican Candy Canes”

23)   For Christmas this year, Elizabeth ate a plate of lasagna someone from the office gave her, took three Xanax and watched half an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond (the one where Marie crashes Debra’s Tupperware party).

24)   One time, I ran over this kid’s ankle with my car.

25)   If I remember correctly we would even put Polo on between our legs just in case we hooked up at the dance at the YMCA. One time, this piece of shit Greek kid punched me in the stomach in front of the girl I liked. His family was on welfare and he was adopted so I won at life anyway.

26)   On the way to the Foreigner show Doug fingered Terri in the back seat. On the way home they pulled to the side of the road and brutally murdered her with their rough hands. Kevin grabbed her Marlboro Lights.

27)   I was so petrified to go out in the hallway. At the end of the hall near that big vase was a little moon floating. It would just sit there at the end of the hall at night and spin around.

28)   “Oh cool, Art Garfunkel just showed up and he has so much fucking cocaine on him”

29)   I imagine what it would have been like to grow up far away from the ocean. Far away from punk rock and skateboards and Fugazi records and clove cigarettes.

30)    This place, they all need some sort of an escape method; alcohol, drugs, constant television so they don’t have to talk to each other

31)   Gliding through unfamiliar cities at night. Crystal clean windshield so everything sparkles. This deafening silence outside that surrounds the car is like an orange tinted ghost that has no shape. It envelopes the car in a soothing way and if you go too fast you miss everything good. Bright white moon colored strips of light on the river. A man you’ll never meet walking alone, a park bench with a burst of orange hovering above it. Then buildings taller than you are they swallow you whole. Tunnels and overpasses bring you to another area of the city or to a place outside you will never see again. Traveling like this, quick fast and in a hurry is a good way to see everything in slow motion, even while you move fast

32)   When we don’t think we are then we don’t think we are when.

33)   The sexual history of your father

34)   I sat in that chair for thirty five years, I’m not going back

35)   She would lie to her brother just to get to his best friend Kevin. One night she sucked Kevin’s dick behind a strip mall. He killed himself a week later.

36)   In New Mexico that one time

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February 28, 2012

I Was a Bully, But I Also Got Bullied So It’s Okay

When I was 13 years old or however old you are when you get to seventh grade I started school in my new town of Swampscott, Massachusetts. I was fat, had gross long greasy hair, bad acne and wore concert t-shirts all the time. Ozzy, Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden, etc. Concert shirts back then were often “baseball style” with those long sleeves. I was also painfully shy and as I am now, socially awkward. Granted if I know the people I am with I am whatever the polar opposite of socially awkward is.

There were a group of 8th graders I could tell were just troublemakers. I mean granted I would be hanging with troublemakers pretty much a week or so later…One particular guy, his name escapes me now…his face though, he looked like a rat. Tiny little eyes, this rat nose and just this demeanor that was sneaky and shifty. Him and his group of friends were like those kids on the Simpsons, when you saw them coming down the hall you knew they were going to do something to you. So one particular day I was walking down the hall in an area where nobody happened to be at the moment and there was the Rat boy and his crew. This particular day I was wearing one of those long sleeved concert shirts and him and his crew grabbed me and proceeded to tie my sleeves to the two doors to the theater, which swung out. I was stuck there for a few minutes until someone, probably a janitor, came to my rescue.

Fast forward to couple of years after high school and I was a much bigger person, was lifting weights quite a bit and was considered “mean looking”. I was working at this small supermarket in this disgusting city called Lynn, Massachusetts. This girl started working there, and while she was a nice enough person, she may have been one of the ugliest girls I’ve ever seen in my life. She literally had a dark mustache and really hairy arms which led me to believe that whatever was happening “in other areas” was probably just as horrible of a situation. At one point she mentioned her husband would be coming in to meet her for lunch. So lunch rolls around and I am in the little lunch area and she comes in to introduce me to her husband and low and behold it is Rat boy!

So now I am much bigger and scarier than him, and he is married to the ugliest woman I have ever seen in my life. He shook my hand and we both kind of did that whole “oh hey yeah we went to school together” thing and subsequent visits to work he was always extra friendly to me.

Nowadays, this thing in the news has been “bullying” like it’s some new thing sweeping the nation. I guess with the onset of social networking bullying is worse than it already was. I don’t think it is, I think it’s less than it was. Aside from that incident tying me to the doors, when I was much younger kids were even meaner and nastier. You’d get pushed over, hit, shit thrown at you, etc. Nowadays kids get called fat on the Internet and they are killing themselves. I think the bigger problem is, parents are raising their kids to be pussies. In the summer parents are shaving the heads of their young men and sending these little shaved pussies out into the world to get taunted and made fun of. Wait, what about shaved pussy?

As a kid I bullied and got bullied quite a bit if I remember. One time, I had a paperback book with me in the bathroom and dipped it in a toilet and wiped shit on this kid Eric who later became a good friend, or maybe we were good friends already and this was some way of me showing my adoration to my friend.

In gym class in eighth grade I was playing basketball and my ball went into the area where another group of kids were playing. A tall fellow named Tom threw it back to me harder than he needed to. We got into a sort of tossing match with the ball, I’m assuming someone called someone a faggot and we agreed to “meet at 2:15” Which basically meant you would meet your new enemy and fight them surrounded by a small or large group of students cheering on whoever they were friends with. I wasn’t really a popular kid nor was Tom so our 2:15 meeting was a small affair with maybe a dozen kids watching.  It was definitely not like the Keith Roberts vs Dave Simpson fight that was such a big deal that it took place on a Saturday. I don’t remember what initially sparked the fight but I remember Dave (a good friend of mine at the time) “training” for it. Dave was a skinny pothead like me. Keith was a football player who pretty much knocked out Dave in less than a minute. My fight was similar. I pretty much won within a couple of minutes and then went on my way to smoke weed and listen to my friend’s dad’s Frank Zappa albums, smoke weed and nurse my light bruises from my fight. Quite the suburban denim clad victory parade I’m sure.

That was the last time I got in a fight. 1983. Years later I would see Tom around, and even as recent as a few weeks ago I saw him. We never acknowledge each other, he has about five or six inches on me now and is in much better shape than I am. I always imagine going up to him and asking him if he wants a rematch.

January 31, 2012

Leaving Cleveland

Leaving Cleveland at dawn to come back here

A creepy dark blue and bloody sky leads me home

Black Sabbath as loud as daytime

A perfect hour or so with them

The drive grows much more quiet after that

Arriving here wondering

What was the right decision?

When will the next one of these decisions be made?

I hate this fucking place so much

But obviously I love it even more

There is nothing but everything ever here really

After however many stops and go’s

I can stop here again for now

I never feel settled anywhere

I can’t help it that I never want to sit still

It’s boring like a rock

Almost way past 4:00 AM now, every movie you have ever seen plays in my head this late at night. I am on my way to being this forever. Thinking about people and grinding my teeth reading their crap. Their attention getting devices, the men and women, all the same use the same techniques, like you somehow need to care about their problems. I can’t get behind this shit. I like a one on one deal, but these people shooting black flares into the sky with a silver gun are out of my eyesight. I don’t even look at them now. I’m not going to give that urine soaked beggar a nickel, and I’m not going to hop on the thousand wadded tissues bandwagon you helm. Get it together without us, you can do it. In the end it’s the only way. Don’t push things. They push their shit on you, their blogs and their bands and their articles and their poetry and their ideas and their opinions. Remember back when we would all go down to the beach at night and sit around a fire and talk about The Doors. Now we get news snippets about whoever got a new puppy, or pushed out a fifth child. A three second reading of the great and significant ideas of a lonely fool you haven’t seen in thirteen years. I need to get it all out of my head before I drive myself crazy with it. I get dizzy reading it all and then even dizzier when I invent what I know will exist and does. Arriving here. Meeting all of those women I spent time with. Brief five-hour interview and vibe sessions. None of them anywhere close to what I need. You spend all of this time with them and realize not only are they all crazy but you are not well either.  There’s no reason to still be doing this bullshit at however old I get before I go to bed at night. Eight trillion lonely crazy women knocking on my door while I knock on theirs trying to figure out the secret knock. I end up being an asshole nine times out of ten. Well, just because I’m funny doesn’t mean I’m a nice guy.

January 16, 2012

Flagstaff, AZ to Amarillo, TX

January 16, 2012 (Amarillo, TX)

 

I was thinking about it once I got into Texas today and maybe because I made the joke before. I always imagine when you get to Texas some guy just comes up and says “Welcome to Texas, faggot” and then punches you in the face. I was totally ready to throw Texas under the bus. When you think of Texas you think of George Bush and steak and the Dallas Cowboys and tumbleweeds and white people and long stretches of highway and giving retarded people the death penalty. Well, I’ve only been to this area of Texas (Amarillo) about four times now and granted it’s just that little piece up top I like it here. I forgot that people don’t actually come up to you and say “Welcome to Texas, faggot” and then punch you in the face.

 

I held the elevator door at the hotel for an older gentleman and he obliged by engaging me in a little small talk in the elevator that didn’t feel forced, like he was just naturally a nice guy. I went to a restaurant to grab some takeout and a guy in the bar started talking to me about football, which was on the television, and then about my drive across country, and our jobs. He even offered me a beer. There was nothing creepy or weird about the whole thing, just a guy sitting there shooting the shit with me. We both checked out the natural redhead that walked in, but didn’t make any kind of eye contact like “aww yeah” or anything. But I saw him checking her out. Not sure what she was doing with a guy that looked like Barney Rubble in a salmon Izod shirt with a goatee, but hey I’m just passing through town anyway.  So far my experience in Texas has been great.

 

I’ve obviously spent a long day driving today if I’m talking about different small talk conversations I had. That leaving early plan this morning worked out great. I was on the highway by 7:15 AM. The highway was amazing at this hour, the sun wasn’t fully up and there was a picturesque cloud pattern all over the sky. I made it to a small place called Santa Rosa in New Mexico. It is one of these towns that Rt 66 slices in half. There is very little going on, but a good amount of motels and shitty fast food and old diners to keep boring people like me interested. Well, I stopped and took a number of pictures of old signs and that kind of thing. I had been driving for over seven hours. I decided to cancel my hotel reservation in Santa Rosa and drive through another two plus hours to Amarillo. I’m glad I did all of that driving, even if it was on about two hours of sleep. I did drink three Starbucks drinks throughout the day each with four shots of espresso in them and I’m still awake here.

 

The drive through New Mexico is long. It’s obviously one of the more beautiful states you can see in this area. I went through a number of Indian reservations, stopping at a gas station at one and buying a couple of bottles of soda in glass. I went outside and realized I had no opener. The woman behind the counter went and opened a new one for me and I sat there fumbling with it, two other women came and watched me. I was briefly paralyzed with fear that maybe I was using the bottle opener wrong. I mean really, there is only one way to use one. For whatever reason though, this one didn’t work. It was evident when you inspected it closely that the gap between the okay why am I explaining this. We went and got another one and I opened my bottle and was on my way. Holy shit Mexican orange soda (made with cane sugar) is fucking intense.

 

At one point today I realized I could probably make it to the Cadillac Ranch, which is here in Amarillo, before the sun went down. I was racing the light as I watched it in my rear-view mirror disappear into the ground hundreds of miles behind me. I made it to the place just as it was dusk though. A van full of young guys that looked like a hardcore band was emptying out. I noticed one of the guys had a Red Sox hat and the license plate was Massachusetts. I walked with one of them chatting about music and mutual people we knew; they were from Worcester and blah blah blah. I have to say it was pretty surreal. The dude I met took some pictures of me with my phone but I must have forgotten to tell him “don’t make me look fat(ter)” so I deleted them. The ground around the cars is littered with spray paint cans. I wonder how many layers of paint there truly are. At first you notice the litter when walking up to it. If it were anywhere else it might bother you, but this place is literally right off of the interstate (I-40 which I’ll spend a total of 1500 miles on) and it’s just dirt, it’s not a field, it’s just acres of dirt.

Driving through some desolate area I came upon a roadside monument and I thought of how awful and lonely it would be to die on one of these highways. Nobody drives by for hours you could just be dying for hours and not getting to say goodbye to anyone. At least you’d get to see the amazing sky before you went. Maybe you had a nice Mexican dinner earlier. They have pretty good Mexican food out here (obviously).

January 15, 2012

Los Angeles, CA to Flagstaff, AZ

January 14, 2012 (Flagstaff, AZ)

Early on into this trip this morning I was thinking about different times I’ve lied to women about music or food or something to impress them. The most memorable one was in the early 90’s when being a “music person” didn’t mean anything; everyone was a music person in the 90’s. I was working at a small record store in New Hampshire in this beach resort area that was like a less good (wait, better?) version of the Jersey Shore. Next to the store was a small coffee shop. There was a girl my age that worked part time there and often we would kill the day chatting about life and music. She knew quite a bit about music, which is always a good thing. I considered myself and still consider myself to have a good knowledge of hardcore, punk rock, metal and stuff related to those genres. There are always holes in someone’s taste of knowledge though. She mentioned she loved The Repalcements and held up a copy of “Let it Be” asking me if I agreed it was a classic.

“Of course, what are you shitting me?” I replied

I had never heard the album in my life. I immediately grabbed a copy that night and listened to it over and over just in case she “tested me” on it at some point. A short time later she stopped working there and evidently stole money from the coffee shop to support a drug habit. It was nice of her to introduce me to that album which is obviously a classic I will tell any woman in the future.  I can’t remember what this has to do with this trip.

Another time I lied to a woman to impress her was every single time I’ve ever talked to a woman in my entire life.

Saying goodbye always sucks, even if it’s temporary. Last night was laid back. I went with one friend to a restaurant that is basically one of these chain bakery/restaurants that old people go to. My friend had wanted to go to one before he moved (he is also leaving LA). For my last meal in Los Angeles, really? It turned out to be just what I expected. Gross. I barely ate it. He enjoyed his meal but I enjoyed the scenery in the restaurant. Some observations: Every customer had some sort of problem walking. Limping. Crutches. A hunchbacked woman. Some woman was wearing these weird winter gloves that looked out of place with short sleeves indoors on someone that isn’t playing drums. There was a guy that looked like he was probably in some horrible rock band in the 70’s. He even had like a vest and frosted hair. Him and his date sat on the same side in their booth. She was older than she wanted us to think she was. I wasn’t fooled. Obviously he was 57.

We said our farewells and then I shot to the other side or some other side, I don’t really understand valleys, of the valley and met “the girls”. We went for food and of course I didn’t think twice of ordering a meal forty minutes after another meal. Come on, I barely ate the first one. I’ll miss all of these people and Los Angeles.

This part of the drive is easily the best and thankfully I had bright blue daylight to make it even easier. Eventually this will turn grey and ugly and I’ll be back home.  I’ve never been happier.

January 15, 2012 (Flagstaff, AZ)

It’s 5:00 AM. I can’t really sleep in this area of the country because of the altitude and just sleeping on an actual bed at this point is hard. I think I slept a total of two hours last night. I slept three or four the night before, and drove a little more than seven hours. I may just leave here soon for the next stop. It’s still dark here and, well sleeping is boring when there is so much to see out here. Everything here is standing still so it’s not like I’m going to miss anything. If I leave this early I can drive in daylight for the majority of the day though. Fuck this?

January 13, 2012

Leaving California

January 13, 2012 (Los Angeles, CA)

 

Since August 4th 2009 I’ve been pretty much living out of a suitcase. I’ve not slept on a bed more than twenty times during this period. I have no idea where to say I live, but I’ve seen quite a bit now, met quite a few people and for the most part been completely fine with this lifestyle. Why would I want to sit around and watch nothing go by?

 

This trip out here, out west, felt like a vacation from the get go. Arriving with no job and a job prospect here was fine at first and then I just kind of forgot to be responsible. Aside from a half dozen resumes sent out this is pretty much what I did for two months here: went to restaurants: by myself, with friends or with dates. I went to Disneyland. I saw some famous people, none of them white (!). I almost had a girlfriend. I saw The Cure. I saw one sunset at the ocean while surfers mingled out in the golden water.  I went back to Boston for ten days.

 

It’s time to go back to work and be responsible again, so I’m out of here. For now.

 

Trying to prepare for this drive. I’ve become much better at it now. Everything I own has been shipped or is on it’s way back to Boston so my car will be relatively empty. Having a car packed with things is a surefire way to stress me out and have me peaking out of the window of my hotel every five minutes.

 

You turn yourself into something out there in the middle of nowhere. Nothing like it in the world; black sky with holes in it so the light from the other galaxy can peek through. You wonder who is over there feeling as alone as you out there. It feels intense. It’s hard to raise your hands to the sky when you can’t feel them anymore.

(I’ll be updating as much as I can about my trip across country the next week or so)

January 10, 2012

Four Dreams

Dream # 23  (05/26/10)
I’m on some flimsy wooden raft in the middle of this rough waterway. I can see land on each side of me. Waves are reaching twenty feet high. The horrifying nature of the ordeal knocks me out in the dream.

For a time in the 80’s I would put cologne on when I went out for the night. Like Polo cologne. What a fucking loser. The second I stepped outside someone should have smashed me in the face with a pink aluminum softball bat six times. I wonder if wearing cologne has ever worked for anyone. We were just going to the ice cream shop and then home.

If I try and think back to around ages 6-10 it is kind of blank. We lived in Los Angeles, I seemed pretty occupied with Kiss records, dirt bikes and Suzanne Somers. I don’t remember what a day was like. What time did I wake up? When did I eat? What did my voice sound like? All shit I really don’t want to know, but it seems odd to think of yourself that young and how you were. I think with me it would freak me out as it would be me before I was a fuck up.


Dream # 11 (“a few months ago”)
I’m in some weird canyon. It’s dry and tanned everywhere. Everything is sunny bright yellow and light dirt. One hundred yards away or so I see a group of people standing around talking. A loud chuckle erupts every few minutes. I try and move towards them but every time I do one of the people in the group does some odd motion with their hand and a bolt of electricity comes shooting out of their hand, striking me on the leg so I can no longer move.

Her name was Stacie. She worked in some office downtown or something. Theodore knew her from Popeye’s Fried Chicken. At night she would drink wine until she passed out in the living room. One time Theodore took her to see some Robin Williams movie and she threw up all over his cock behind a Cracker Barrel out on Rt 6.

I can remember plenty of things from my teenage years, and some from my twenties. Other than that, everything gets blurry. Same with being a teenager, why would I ever want to know what that kid was like? Sometimes I talk to friends from that era now, ex-girlfriends from when I was like fourteen and the terms boyfriend and girlfriend didn’t really mean much anyway. Their last impression of me is of a fifteen year old kid or something, How odd. I imagine if I was even remotely the same as I was then I wouldn’t have a single friend. I was pretty awkward and quiet and introverted and angry and whatever else unfortunate word you can think of.


Dream # 20 (05/24/10)
Some guys voice saying “the rooms are fifty dollars each, and no you can’t play that guitar in here and the cat has to stay in the car”

His name was Ian, he worked for the Public Works Department. In the summers as you tip toed back home from the beach to avoid burning your already half charred feet you would see Ian driving around in one of those orange trucks. He was happy to pick up other people’s trash. At one point he bought a lottery ticket and told everyone he was going to win enough money to finally leave town. On the night of the drawing he was killed by a car walking his dog (the dog also died). His numbers did not come out. All of those orange trucks have those numbers he played painted on the side of them now. The numbers have never been drawn.

This man is always in here. He kind of makes me nervous. You will see him here in the afternoon and if you drive by or stop in later at night he’ll still be here. Some days he will take his shoes off while he is sitting there, Other days he has all of these items with him, drinks, three or four of them. It appears he orders probably the cheapest drink and then just sits here all day. Some days he makes phone calls on his cell and is louder than he needs to be. The main deal though, his eyes. He has that look in his eyes that just says “I’m crazy”. He just sat down and two women got up and left. Imagine having that power? You sit down and people just leave because you are weirding people out. I would jump off a bridge if that happened. Oh wait, this happens with women and me.


Dream # 8 (“a long time ago”)
On this long highway that has been seemingly going on for hours and hours. The sky is huge, biggest sky I have ever seen in my life. Everything is bright and almost hurts my eyes. I finally reach the horizon and just fly off into nowhere. It’s just bright hot white and I fade out. 

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January 5, 2012

The Great Bake Sale of Spring ’82

With the prospect of winning free tickets to see any Broadway play of your choice, Winnie made her prize winning (in family circles) cupcakes yet again. Winnie worked night and day to perfect the cupcakes. Making phone calls to unknown relatives who have passed the recipe around for years, Winnie was determined to win yet again. Like the New York Yankees, she took the prize again. Winnie immediately called Harold when she heard the news.

“We’re going to New York again Harold!”

“Wonderful Winnie, I can’t believe it! Well, yes I can, those are some cupcakes”

Harold had been eating the “test” cupcakes for the weeks approaching the bake sale, and one would have thought he had his fill already.

“I’ll see you when you get home Harold”

“I love you honey” Harold answered.

“I love you too”

Winnie hung up the phone and approached Mr. Higgins to collect her prize.

On her short drive home Winnie wondered if that Peggy Roberts deserved the prize instead of her, her cheesecake was delicious. Pulling into the driveway she shrugged, shut the headlights off, and got out of the car glowing.

January 3, 2012

Nine Short Stories About Being Buried Alive

“Leave Us Alone We are Working on Blueprints”
Try this we are walking into the bar you and I and I turn to you and tell you I am scared to go in I am scared to be in there with them all I am scared to go outside now I don’t want to feel the aggravation and anger like I felt today I listen to this cd and I have to fucking shut it because I don’t give a fuck who broke this guys fucking heart I don’t give a fuck who broke anyone’s heart for that matter.

“John Travolta’s Facial Hair in the Film ‘Swordfish’”
I pissed out what seemed like a gallon and a half of beer, and then got in my car. The drive home was intense and dangerous. Art Bell telling me that people spontaneously go invisible. I took the barrel of the 9mm and pointed it at the woman and her son driving by me in the mini-van and lit another Kool.

“Oh, I Didn’t Realize Your Parents Molested You”
So when we arrived at the apartment of Timmy and Jenni I initially thought we were going to be surrounded by thieves and men with insurance plans; instead, we were surrounded by good drugs, and good jazz music from the late 70’s. One wants to believe that Timmy would not have good music, but for the remainder of the night we discussed how great the tone of Pat Metheney was in this particular year.

“A Visibly Drunk Liza Minneli Being Eaten by a Giant Orange Scorpion with Wings”
The first time one hears the song “the Magic Power” by “the other famous trio from Canada”, Triumph, one is filled with such a feeling of hope, you literally feel like Rik Emmett is going to jump through the speakers and give you a big hug. Hi, my name is Christian, and I am addicted to rock and roll music.

“The Drive Home to Your Wife After You Pay For Sex the First Time”
Oh how I enjoy that crisp wind that blows brown and bright blue air all over the world in the fall here in New England. Right now, the tail end of a winter I didn’t experience and it feels fresh and nice outside. I need to move myself somewhere good. Yeah I said this and did this already. Wait what?

“Adults Who Think Vampire Stuff is Cool”
I love fucking cole slaw, love it, absolutely love it. All of the cold “pre-made” salads are great too. My wife made this wonderful potato salad last week. I ate it all week at work. Her sister makes a great macaroni salad. I once knew a man from Ohio who made some pretty intense bean salad that was just delicious! Fuck I love it all! Fuck!

“The Ticket to the Jethro Tull Concert in Your Wallet While You Get Arrested”
I remember going to this day camp when I was a little kid. One weekend, they had a sleep over. I didn’t want to sleep over. I don’t like sleeping outside to this fucking day. I was supposed to meet a couple of friends in the middle of the night to get in trouble or whatever. The next day when I showed up, this big kid Kevin, his Kiss belt buckle glimmering in the hot summer of 78’ sun says to me “where were you last night?”. He was going to beat me up for not showing up to do whatever we were going to do. One day I fell on the trampoline and hurt my head crying and yelling, I felt paralyzed and freaked out. I think this is why I have problems in general now.

“Last Friday, When We Quit Smoking Cocaine”
Last night I dreamt that I was swimming in the ocean with a German Shepard, I was worried that my wallet was going to get wet so I asked him what to do, he said we couldn’t do anything, and to worry about it later. Great, talking German Shepards in my dreams now. He was cute. I have no idea what we were doing in the ocean, as I steadfastly refuse to swim as soon as someone suggests it.

“The Guy Doug Your Wife Fucked When She Was Nineteen”
The other night at dinner a friend asked if I was going to get a cat when I moved into my new place. I replied, “I can’t because I don’t want to deal with the inevitable death of the pet, the same reason I don’t want to get another girlfriend. I don’t feel like dealing with the eventual end of a relationship” I guess it’s part self-deprecation “humor” and partly true. I barely get attached to anything, people, places, opinions. This kind of rampant unsettling train of thought happening 27 hours a day. I guess everyone is like this right?

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January 3, 2012

The Toy

Back when I initially started listening to the Grateful Dead, or rather following them, a friend of mine somehow became friends with a man named Dan. My friend used to get all of our tapes from this guy. He was a taper, and the way my friend, (I’ll call him) David, explained him I was kind of scared to meet the guy. Often times, we would get tapes within a week of a show. This sounds crazy in an era when you can get a CD copy of a show you just saw on the way out of the venue. Also, listening to shit on tapes. Come on.

(yes that’s me wearing a “Jamin (sic) With Jerry” shirt)

At one point, David took me over to Dan’s to pick up some tapes. The only reason I remember this guy and story is I recently drove by near where he lived. So we pull up to this small ranch house in Lynn, Massachusetts. David mentioned we were supposed to just “go in”. What David didn’t tell me is we would have to walk through the kitchen and see something horrible. There in a torn old nightgown was a young heavyset woman sitting at a table. Her face gave away that she was either blind, severely retarded or both. She was sitting there picking at a plate that had what looked like what a plate that used to have baked pork chops on it. It was all over her face and hands. Needless to say this was at a time when I was pretty much listening to The Dead and smoking quite a bit of marijuana. I was probably high as a kite when we walked through that kitchen and I’m sure I was probably standing with mouth agape, eyes half shut startled.

We made our way to the basement where Dan would be. My initial impression was he looked kind of like a cliche of a used car dealer…or “Artie Fufkin from Polymer Records”

David had mentioned he was a bit off, and although I am not making fun of OCD here, this guy was out of control. His face up close was all raw and red and clean shaven. I noticed razors around the room randomly so I assumed maybe he was an obsessive shaver. The room was cluttered with piles of papers, little stacks of rubber banded index cards and of course boxes and boxes of Maxell XLII-S blank tapes everywhere. Amongst the clutter on the floor, in the corner of the room was what David and I eventually ended up calling “the toy” It was one of those fake vaginas that you plug into a wall. For the same reason I will probably never fuck a robot, I can’t imagine putting my rock hard cock into something that is plugged into a wall. That’s just me though. Anyway, the discovery of this thing surely brought on some elbow nudging.

When you talked to Dan about the tapes, he was one of the early audiophile type so he would be telling you things that would fly over your head fast like speeding bullet. I remember him being serious about the low end and making sure your levels were down as “Phil will blow your speakers”. Phil Lesh is the bass player for the Grateful Dead, and sure he has probably blown a speaker or two in his time.

Over the next few years we would go by Dan’s after a tour and get tapes of shows we heard were particularly good and that kind of thing. Oh, the index cards…I remember at one point David and I were going to Hartford, CT to see the band and asked him what the best way to go would be. He pulled a stack of those index cards out and flipped through them eventually finding what would be “Hartford Coliseum” with turn by turn directions listed on the card, exact time it would take to get there from his house, miles away, etc.

We eventually lost touch with Dan, and then CD’s happened, and then Jerry died of course so who knows what happened to him. I know he worked in the mental health field and that house he lived in was his parents house but they had died so it was him and his sister. Oh yeah, the porn. How could I forget about the porn?! The porn went hand and hand or perhaps “cock and electrical socket” with “the toy” The porn was kind of the whole point of this story. Also in piles all over the room were video tapes, still in their cases, out of the cases, flattened video cases on the floor and then…eww just thinking about this is making me upset….wadded up tissues all over the place in that room. It was like some sort of Orgasmic Grateful Dead Shaving and High End Audio Tapes Palace of Masturbation this basement room. And that is where this story can probably end I guess.

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