THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS
It's actually only 19 minutes past Christmas but I'm up and feeling juiced. So let's get some work done!
I wish the holidays gave me the same sense that they did as a kid. But they don't. I'm a poopoo now on Christmas. Even stayed in my apartment this year and didn't head back to the homeland to see my relatives. Does this make me lame? After all, dad said everyone sat around at my brother's house smoking like chimneys and talking about hunting pheasants. And they wonder whey I left Michigan.
I don't wonder at all. I know exactly why I left: because I don't like corn on the cob. And we were surrounded by giant cornfields, wheat fields, bean fields. Jesus! I always used to think, "Where do they grow the hotdogs?"
It was strange being a kid with an imagination in the country. I always longed for the city and the skyscrapers and the hustle bustle of the street. All I had was the sound of Jay Fetter's combine sucking in the wheat. Or goddamn crickets. I hated them! Every night there would be a few crickets in the basement driving me nuts. I have a real difficulty with erroneous noise. So I'd sneak down into the basement leaving the lights off (because I learned the crickets stop chirping when the lights went on suddenly) and use a flashlight to find my way around. I'd track the sound of a singing insect, lift up a piece of wood. You should have seen them! They were scared...I could even tell that about a cricket with his beady little eyes and his legs rubbing together making his personal symphony. I'd pick them up, shake them in my hand and slam them into the paneled walls. Yes, I realize now that was kind of cruel, but when I was 27 I had no scruples.
My last thought is simply: I hope God is not a cricket.
It's actually only 19 minutes past Christmas but I'm up and feeling juiced. So let's get some work done!
I wish the holidays gave me the same sense that they did as a kid. But they don't. I'm a poopoo now on Christmas. Even stayed in my apartment this year and didn't head back to the homeland to see my relatives. Does this make me lame? After all, dad said everyone sat around at my brother's house smoking like chimneys and talking about hunting pheasants. And they wonder whey I left Michigan.
I don't wonder at all. I know exactly why I left: because I don't like corn on the cob. And we were surrounded by giant cornfields, wheat fields, bean fields. Jesus! I always used to think, "Where do they grow the hotdogs?"
It was strange being a kid with an imagination in the country. I always longed for the city and the skyscrapers and the hustle bustle of the street. All I had was the sound of Jay Fetter's combine sucking in the wheat. Or goddamn crickets. I hated them! Every night there would be a few crickets in the basement driving me nuts. I have a real difficulty with erroneous noise. So I'd sneak down into the basement leaving the lights off (because I learned the crickets stop chirping when the lights went on suddenly) and use a flashlight to find my way around. I'd track the sound of a singing insect, lift up a piece of wood. You should have seen them! They were scared...I could even tell that about a cricket with his beady little eyes and his legs rubbing together making his personal symphony. I'd pick them up, shake them in my hand and slam them into the paneled walls. Yes, I realize now that was kind of cruel, but when I was 27 I had no scruples.
My last thought is simply: I hope God is not a cricket.
posted by auGi at 12:28 AM
