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If you're considering a change of career, and are entertaining entry into the exciting field of offset printing... you'd best be quittin' them drugs, Slim. Mercy, Jeebus... one day, it's the shit-hit-the-fan, every-stupid-thing-that-can-happen scenario... the next, it's like being in a retirement community where silence is golden. Nothin' to do but plot evil, and snack away with reckless abandon. Granted, my own mercuric swings of mood are legendary, but this job and me... well, we just don't swing at the same rate. Oh, I suppose I could get away with murder, White-Collar-Crimewise, if Old Scratch prodded me that way with his pitchfork of pointy office supplies. Bad enough that I'm sitting right here as my ass broadens, my beard grows, and my braincells numb. Bad, in a relative sense. Instead, this evening I've joined the ranks of the recording industry's "Axis 0f Evil" (and that epithet is crying for some imaginative embellishment), mounting my own militia of music. Don't give me a T-1 connnection and expect me not to use it. "A-Harrrrrr... prepare to be recorrrrded." An Idle Mind Is The Devil's Playground. Most of what passed for strenuous activity was done, hours ago. Not long after the first cups of high-octane in the morning, I lugged two bins full of old cedar wood that I'd split for Ellie's fireplace up the three flights of stairs to the treehouse. Trust me, when it's time to light the fire, nothing beats the smell of cedar aflame. Like incense. That's where I'd like to be reclining, right about now. With Barry White grunting out some bootycall cheerleading. Naughty boy. Hmmm... illegal, immoral and fattening. Got ALL the bases covered, today. Dang! I missed Dubyuh's address tonight! Not like it won't be analyzed, ad nauseum... but I prefer to get the straight poop from the horse's... pie hole. Sonder if the dumbass will push the button, tomorrow? Maybe... if Daddy says so. ..................................................................................................................... Back to the... Hostel Environment Day Eight: Monmouth to Eugene Flat. A word I'd not previously considered in describing Oregon, though that would be accurate for the ride to Eugene. Crystal clear skies formed the ceiling on the route southward, a remarkable tailwind pushed us whole of the sixty miles... the north breeze, no doubt funneled by the bordering ranges to the east and west. To this point, I'd become accustomed to the constant thrum of wind in my ears... with a tailwind, peripheral hearing is regained, punctuated by teh song of skinny tire on asphalt. Unfortunately, it was easier to hear some of the inanities that Luke spouted constantly, as he, Brian and Steve were riding with me for a good part of the day. Mostly, conversation was a thing for when the group reconvened, on rest stops or when we made camp. Difficult to hold a coherent conversation, single-file, since traffic was often an issue. Not for this guy... looking back, I think the relative emptiness of the open road frightened him... and engaged turbo-charged motormouth. I was loving the serenity, when I could find it... instead of boredom and impatience, I was becoming addicted. So much input for the eyes. Silence belying the white noise that was the Wall Of Sound of the outdoors. I was craving more. Not quite the "more" we got when we got to Town. Dudley, in his frugal genius, found us lodgings for the night... with a roof! Witnesseth, the el Don Motel. Today (meaning 2003) I would find this charming, in a dilapidated, neon-sign kind of way. At the time, the charm was lost on me. After showering and unburdening, we made for excitement. What we found was a joint called "The Place," the wonders therein consisting of suspender-clad logger types, and country rock. Several beers and too much pedal steel later, we followed our hunger to a pizza joint (where Henk promptly divebombed his ass when he missed his chair), and back to the motel... Crime Scene. Dudley had assigned the girls the end room, next to the street... where they were when some drunk lady skipped the intersection and impaled their wall with radiator grille in the night. Much merrymaking as they were given new rooms and police interviews. The true charms of the el Don were apparent later, when we found that the TVs in every room were broken, and the matresses were... well... buggy. So much for civilization. |
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