“I am done with civilization and its spawn of cultured souls. I gave myself up when I entered the tomb. From now on I am a nomad, a spiritual nobody…
To be silent the whole day long, see no newspaper, hear no radio, listen to no gossip, be thoroughly and completely lazy, thoroughly and completely indifferent to the fate of the world is the finest medicine a man can give himself.”
– Henry Miller
I got in to Amsterdam yesterday morning at 6:00am. We had breakfast at Sjoerd and Onah’s, then walked Bear for while before taking the train to the city. We had a lovely boat ride with a bunch of Sjoerd’s friends and then the big birthday party.
Highlights were that I talked the owner of the restaurant into trading shirts with me and I later led the whole bar in a drunken rendition of ‘Take Me Home Country Roads’. It was a scene man.
Today we will walk the city and relax a bit before heading out tomorrow to visit the northern islands.
In other news, Big Ed (aka my dad), passed out and crashed his car. Turns out his heart had stopped for 7 seconds. So he got a pacemaker put in. He also seems to have injured his back so we are still waiting to hear what needs to happen there. Amazingly no other vehicles were involved and he didn’t run over any kids or dogs. Meanwhile, mom fell while walking the dog and looks like a boxer who went up against Tyson in his prime.
I recently read a line where a woman called a man a ‘horse’s ass‘. My mom used to say that sometimes. I don’t think it’s really a thing anymore. Jackass used to be pretty popular, but I think it’s a bit dated now too. Asshole remains a popular favorite — as in ‘Donald Trump’s a real asshole‘. I’ve heard occasional references to ‘cat’s ass‘ and sometime’s just the all-encompassing ‘ass‘, animal free. I wonder if other countries refer to different animal’s anatomy. Kangaroo’s ass? Llama’s ass? Ass of a camel!
In Somerset, the Jungle Fox and I walk at the city park in big loops. Forests and farmfields on one side and baseball fields and swimming pool and some outdoor facilities on the other. Lots of people walk there. Mostly walkers like to walk and talk. I like to walk and not talk. There is some weirdo that changed his trajectory to match up with me and started talking to me. So I left when we got back around to my car. I was civil, I wasn’t a dick; but I didn’t find him interesting at all. I get that some people are lonely and I do feel bad for them, but I simply don’t have enough emotional capacity to handle all my own business unless I have time to re-charge.
This morning some old guys were walking by and one of them said “we haven’t seen you for awhile”. Like we were in the same country club or something. It’s really hard to know what to say here because almost any response will prompt more questions. The truth is occasionally a viable option, but if I told them I divide my time between Boston, Somerset, and West Virginia it would have blown their minds. They just live in a world here that is radically different. Maybe not blown their minds completely, but they definitely would have been curious and continued to interrogate me. I thought about telling them I had been bitten by a snake and was in a coma but that also seemed risky. Eventually I just said I was away on vacation and that seemed pat enough of an answer that it did not warrant further investigation.
Martini does not understand age gaps. There was a really beautiful old dog in the park today. Marti desperately wanted to play but the old dog just didn’t have the gas. He sort of sniffed around and nuzzled a bit, but when Marti took off, begging to be chased, he just turned back to his handler. In Marti’s world, every dog should be running and playing with her.
When I got to Black Dog Ridge two weeks ago, the power was out. It only came back on Sunday around 4:00pm and the internet sometime during that night. The following Sunday, another storm, another power outage. This time it went out at 4:00pm and then came back on at 2:00am for about 3 minutes, which woke me up. The AC kicked on, I could see the light I leave on down stairs casting a little glow onto the deck. All the electrical devices charmed or dinged and the overhead fan started spinning. Then poof. Back off the power went. Power was finally fully restored Tuesday around 4:00pm.
I love being in the mountains but it’s not for the snowflakes. In addition to occasionally going electricity free for a time, the internet can also be spotty. There are bugs–ants, stink bugs, spiders, flying insects of all kinds. They like my house and are constantly battling for space. Brittany is the chemical warfare expert–consistently laying down a line of toxic defense around the outside perimeter.
Lots of wildlife on the property too. Other than deer, which are thick as thieves, most of the other animals try to remain invisible to us. But we catch glimpses. Raccoons, bobcats, coyotes, black bear, foxes, snakes.
On the drive back to Somerset the other day I spent a little time listening to some old classics by The Band.
Then, when I got home and read the paper, I saw that Robbie Robertson had died earlier in the day. So that was interesting because I like The Band but don’t really listen to them all that much anymore.
I’ve been reading like crazy. But also working hard to get my book into shape for a re-release and also an audible version. And of course trying to figure out how to commercialize the camp trailers and also get TOOM off the ground. And working at my day job. Running hot at the moment, but holding it together.
I caught most of the Republican debate (aka Clown Show) the other night. They trotted out the old war horses—Karl Rove and Kelly Ann Conway. The vampire Trey Gowdy. And, of course. They had to have some ditzy blond singing the National Anthem. Unbelievable that I was born into this country where I feel absolutely no connection. These people are crazy.
On my way to the airport in Boston on Thursday, I had some extra time so stopped at The Capital Grille for lunch. I got there at Noon and the bar was already full of Republicans. Real hard-core evil fuckers who were obviously regulars. I listened in while they gave their analysis of the debates–most of them seemed to be DeSantis fans but one of the wives seemed to lean toward Nikki Haley. They hated Christie because he attacked their King Trump.
I lay quiet in the lion’s den, and listened to their ignorant nonsense and ate my caesar salad with shrimps the size of a toddler.
It’s when he’s drunk
that he knows he should never be married
or have children;
what has he to do
with conversations of wives
or the chatter and nosepickings of children?
He should be a cloud, a forest fragrance,
a startled fawn, at one
with the elemental force
that makes a plantain leaf
fall to the ground
or a peacock spread its tail to the sun.
– Irving Layton
The Martini Tales 