Busy day, waiting to go out for coffee. This weird little middle aged guy in shorts and a half shirt came in with a small stack of records. For the most part they were beat to shit but he had a couple of decent ones. He was describing each one before he gave it to me, he handed me a Beach Boys-Greatest Hits
“Here’s one, the fuckin’ Beatles, this gottttta be worth a buck, right?
“That’s The Beach Boys, man and it’s pretty scratched up”
“No, man that’s the fuckin’ Beatles. It’s got some old weed in it and shit but it’s a good one…it’ll play.”
“Yeah, no. It’s way too scratchy and it ain’t the Beatles”
He gave me a palm up shrug, with a smirk (you win this battle)
“How about this one, fuckin’ Cheech and Chong- Big Bambu, you know this one right?”
“Yeah, but it’s only really worth anything if it has the giant rolling paper in it”
“No man, it don’t…I lent this to my ex…and she probably took it…you know how that shit goes…Oh, and it’s scratched up”
“yeah, man you’re not really selling me on it.”
We settled on a price for the ones I wanted and I went out for coffee. I saw the guy as I was going into Starbucks, “Hey record dude, coffee. Yeah!”
We have an old tree on the side of the driveway, the branches hang over the car. I’m not sure what kind of tree it is, I refer to it as a Shitberry tree. Although I never see any birds on it whatever part of the car is parked under it is covered in industrial strength bird shit and pine(?) needles. I usually don’t notice how bad it is until I get where I’m going, then it’s windex, paper towels and a strong resolve. Unless I’m lazy, which is often, then I just look at it, droop my shoulders and shuffle off to whatever task I’m on. This latest task was Foodtown. I went in, got the few items I had to get and headed to the checkout. There was only two open, one was the normal and one was 20 items or less. There was a woman who was in the 20 items or less that had a huge amount of stuff, well over 20 items. All of it seemed to be fruits, vegetables or bulk food. So there were just little bags and little bags and little bags of items that all had to be identified and weighed. The regular checkout had a long line of people who seemed to be stocking up for the apocalypse. I stood there ruminating on the life choices that had brought me to this spot when an outraged little old lady, who looked like Nancy Reagan with an even bigger head pointed at the woman who had more than 20 items, and shrieked in a surprisingly loud voice “look at her! She can’t count!” to no one in particular. it looked like something that the aliens in Invasion of The Body Snatchers would do. The woman who was working the courtesy desk took pity on me and rang me up. She looked at what what was going on shook her head and said “Must be a full moon.”
It was a slow day at work until about fifteen minutes before Matt left for the day. It seemed like the bus from crazytown (not the band) made an unscheduled stop, which it often does. A woman was asking for a ton of different cd’s, most of it was late 90’s metal and soul. She was asking for them in half song titles and misheard lyrics but no band names. I would show her a section she was looking for and before I could turn around, she would be asking another question from a different part of the store. It had the vibe of one of those Japanese horror movies where there are people who crawl out of TV sets, swivel their heads and crawl on the wall. While this was going on another guy was asking if I was going to see Steely Dan at the Count Basie, I wasn’t. He wasn’t either but…”Yeah, I paid $50 to see Andrew Dice Clay there and it was great, he still got it…about 100 women walked out…yeah he still got it. He did new stuff but he didn’t do any nursery rhymes…so when he was done, I ran up front and yelled NURSERY RHYMES, MOTHERFUCKER! and he turned around, looked at me and he did all the nursery rhymes…yeah, he’s like Bob Dylan…nobody wants to hear your new shit, dude. They wanna hear the old stuff…the stuff that made you great.” The 90’s metal/soul woman was there for another hour but bought a few cd’s.
A few of us were talking a couple of days ago about weird/shitty tours we had been on and Monster Magnets tour with Rob Zombie in ’98 came up. It was a US tour with Fear Factory opening, us and then Zombie. It was a solid bill. We had opened up for White Zombie a few years earlier and outside of a couple of incidents it was good tour. This tour was different, it was pretty brutal. Mainly because of their guy Ted and his right hand man this english guy, Arthur who we referred to as his “droog”. These guys were complete dicks and reveled in fucking with the opening bands. Nothing gigantic, a lot of nickel and dime shit and they exuded a general paranoid, us against them mentality. The rest of the crew guys were fine. Zombie had a bunch of stage props that they were very protective of, usually hidden away under lock and key. Traveling around the country in a closed society like a tour sometimes puts the zap on you and things that are insignificant end up having great importance, almost to the point of obsession. One of these was getting to the locked up stage props. Real “Hogan’s Heroes” type thing. We weren’t going to destroy or desecrate them but we wanted them to know that they could be gotten to. We finally found our chance when their prop lair was unlocked and unattended. We took a few polaroids of us wearing the masks and left them around where they could be seen by Zombie and chums. They were pretty pissed but it was towards the end of the tour so there wasn’t much they could do.
[upon reading this, it's pretty goddamned slight]
I had to go to the A&P to pick up dog food that I had forgotten to get when I went to Foodtown earlier in the day, I just couldn’t take going back to Foodtown. As I have have written in the past, this A&P has slow doors and at night they lock one entrance. When I got there both entrances were open which was a minor victory. Our dog Lucy (aka: Ma Barker or Lil’ Shitpaw) eats Mighty Dog but there is one style that turns her into a tiny shit cannon. I always forget what kind; Sea Bass with Lime Cilantro, Sirloin Mango Chutney, or Umami Chicken Stew. So I called Carrie on her cel to find out which one was on the no fly list. Went right to message, this usually turns into a tennis match of unanswered returned phone calls. I figured I’d get one of each and the wrong one we could give to somebody who has a dog that likes to shit a lot. I got a call back from Carrie, terrible connection, too much hang time, talking over each other. Before we both hung up in disgust I made out one word, blueberries. So I got the blueberries and headed to the check out. It was late so the only guy working the register was also stocking the shelves, so they want you to use the self checkout. I didn’t have my savings card and there was like 15cents off of each can of dogfood, so I had to get the guy, who was not happy. He rung me up, I saved my 90 cents. Unbeknownst to me the entrance I had used earlier had been locked. I didn’t know this and even walking slowly (compensating for the slow door), I still hit it with a thud. The register guy just looked at me and said “yeah, that’s locked”. Touche, register guy, touche.