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July 19 More hell-bent jibberish form the throbbing liver of LIFE -- RSM A moose loose in the Maine Dolla Stow-a Teh "R" in the local Dollar Stroe sign is missing here in poe-dunkm Maine, lending the proper dawn gust pronunciation to the word. Out here the caution signs don't say xing, they just have mooses on em, making me think, a-yuh, that's be about right. Last ime I saw a moose it wasn't crossing anywhere, but rather just being there, a 2-ton, 4-refridgerator sized slaab-o-meat with overgrown roenail monster marrow in blot satellite dish ears and those bug eyes, bulgy eyeballs like droopy sad 3walrus testicles or basketball plums with full moon aperations and a head like a big rig transmission bell housing and the whiskers of a bad ass fat brown 12-story tall tom cat seen through the beer-goggle impared eyes of crack smokin pug dog and just standin there, bein a MOOSE, just being, not crossing, in no hurry, and that's the way you's find him on this back road @ night,damn straight you's better swerve, or you'd be fucked -- RSM Winnessquam Restaurant and Bar Mid July "How you doind on your drinks?" coctail waitress Nicole asks. "Well, Nicole, I would like another drink but I'm a bit mentally impaired and could use your help. Have you any suggestions?" Nicole goes a big wet jelly donut flaccid acid freak-out no-clue-what-do-you-do blank stare on that one, soo ... I suggest something fruity "You know, on of those fer-oooty drinks, something rtropical with an umbrella perhaps?" Now I'm really frying Nicci's fusebox. "Okay, seriously (llosing the lisp now), how about a .... Hurricane!" So off Nicci troddles to the bar and tho' I can't hear her, I hear the bartender's response "Its' a really big wind," he says. Back to the table comes little Nici. "Uh, the bah-tenda deosn't know whats in a hurricane, but if you tell me .... "Fuckno! I can't tell you! If I told you I'd have to perform vigorous oral sex on you and alll your sisters. You understand. Sooo, how aboaut a (oh shit, here comes another curveball) maitai?" Off trundles Nichole to face the irate 87 IQ bartender again. [OK, I'd like to explain something. One, I growed up here in the New England backwoods swimming hoe Celtics-Bruines-RedSox fanaticism land and I love it here. And thus (two) I know better that to try and order umbrella drinks @ Yankee fish-n-chips Bud light and fried calms wiskey sour "ay-yuhp" Stephan King on a jet ski waterskiing Yankee, Yankee, Yankee Truro Beach Wihnepesawki sand bar LAND, but i'm in a punchy mood so what the Hell] I know better, but I did it anyway! And what did I get for my efforts? A Cape Codder east coast lingo for vodka& cranberry. On of the few hard liquor drinks I'll drink, and one I partook of frequently @ old miss Maes Club on Napolean & Magazine in New Or-Leeeenz. I like laughting with Dan. He's a genuien article, a real person, and he's patient with me and for the most part I give him a lot of slak. Dan is patient, behest fo the patience of angels, androids, abrogant beasts with more bulk than the big quadratic equation in the sky ... that's the one that rgulated gravity, inertial, all most more bulk than the laws can comprehend. Like Duke. No engineer would ever sanction that 4-wheeled, 302-cubic inch copulation of creature comfort discards and call it road worthy. But who is worthy REALLY? Not my father, for when it is just not practical "to drive an hour or so to 'do lunch' with his wild-minded son. Not you! Not me! Maybe these great mzihizcs, the new hzmys-sixties - these messamzashoo-choo-settubsns, all of them taking the stage to share with us a glimpse of their latent greatness @ the Karioke machine, maybe they are worthy? Yes, yes I think they are these good folk I know not a one of them, but
they are whooping it up on a Friday night and having fun the good old
off-key singing, lip-swinging way -- God bless 'em. And what am I doing?
Scribbling on a fucking yellow legal pad (all I could procure @ the bumfuck
local store) and watching life a usual. Watcing (not to say I don't spend
plenty of time CREATING the event and then writing about it. But times
like this when it is happining naturally and I can only stand off @ a
distance and observe, well, bit lonely. but BITEME! Mr. lonlieeee. I will
not wallow. I'm sporry, but I just can't wrap myself aroun Karie Okey
on key! Once, that all, and that to an audience of card carrying freeks,
the end of the World Trade Center with Cramardia Gralzctica at the helm.
Blondie's Heart-o-Glass song falsetto. That was then. This is NOW. And
now its time to go. -- RSM
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