Herb (hardyharhar) wrote,
Herb
hardyharhar

Merry Solstice

I just lost $40 at the craps table in a casino at an Indian reservation in Louisiana.  Shoulda quit while I was ahead.  My dad came out a dollar ahead on the slot machines.  Despite the fact that my DOUBLE scotch and soda had about a half-count of scotch and FOUNTAIN six count of soda, I saw a drunk lady fall off her barstool.  The maintenance-man (who was hovering about the bar trying to decide which broken slot machine to fix first) radioed for EMTs, then radioed in to inform his supervisor that more than one slot machine at the bar was broke.  The bartender who was doing a great job of ignoring everybody finally served the person next to me (who hadn't been waiting nearly as long as I had) before calling for EMTs himself.  Then he informed the pushy lady beside me that I'd been waiting longer than her and served me my slightly-flavored soda water, which, to his credit, only cost a dollar.  The EMTs never arrived and the drunk lady's friends got her a Coke before they helped her back onto her stool.  The background noise was like Brian Eno goes to The Price is Right, and more lightbulbs blazed in the joint than at a chandelier convention.

I arrived in town last Thursday for T's birthday.  My mother is not speaking to me.  She is also not speaking to either of my two sisters (I'm the youngest of three), both of whom arrive on the 28th.  My eldest, Scientologist sister does not want to stay at my parents' house because she feels unwelcome by my mother.  My father and I tried to explain to her that we, ourselves, are not exactly welcome either, and that doesn't stop US.  She (eldest sister) also doesn't want to see my middle sister because middle sister is a psychologist and Scientologists hate psychologists.  To top it all off, I learned from my middle sister's best friend that my middle sister hates our eldest sister for having always been a bitch to her, and recently realized that she needs therapy to deal with her crap childhood.  Meanwhile, I've decided that I hate them all.

On the bright side, I've come out here to Wheezyanna with my pops, having finally realized that the only place I can spend quality time with him is in the car.  We went up to Dallas on Monday where he met with a really cool cat who owns an Econo Lodge.  (I arrived for T's birthday last Thursday, but my parents' think I arrived on Monday.  They still don't know this--this is not why my mother quit speaking to me.  She quit speaking to me several weeks ago while I was still back in SF.)  Tonight, I had to tear myself away from T&I and I's new DanceDanceRevolution Christmas present to brave rush-hour Houston traffic back out to my folks' house in the 'burbs so me and Pops could come check out a couple more motels he's going to list.  At least Pops is cool.

Along the way, I was dismayed to see the disappearance of BFE, the site of my many infamous renegade parties, but T is right to point out that such is the nature of the Temporary Autonomous Zone.  (Here are the effigies of me and Sparki that were burned at BFE on Guy Fawkes Night after we'd both moved.)

We stopped at a gas station that sold NRG Potato Chips (with Taurine, Caffeine, and B-Vitamins).

Speaking of Wheezyanna, did anybody hear the BX I produced yesterday about Sepia Mutiny?  I really, really hate to feature myself in media I produce (the 'zine I just made with Pete at USF did not feature a lick of my own work, for example--it's just so slimy to overtly self-promote that way) but I also read an excerpt of my novel.  (For the record, this is how it went down.  I went to a party on Saturday hosted by some of my BX friends.  One of them told me they were short on ideas for the holiday lull and invited me to read, partly as filler and partly because she's genuinely interested.  Then another collective-member arrived and informed us that he'd lined up Amardeep from Sepia Mutiny.  At that point, being the Sepia stalker that I've become, gears started turning in my head and I volunteered to produce the show, but given the cross promotion with SM, I would be a fool to pass up those ears.  So I read.  My own stuff.  What can I say?  I am an opportunistic bastard.  An opportunistic Motherless Child.)

Wow, it's getting late.  It's nearly 6 am.  The motel breakfast bar will open in 40 minutes.  I'm really glad for this alone time.  My dad plans to wake up in three hours.  I've had so many thoughts of other things I wanted to blog about over the course of the night, like how protective I feel of my turbaned/bearded dad when we go in places like trashy casinos and rural gas stations and the associated guilt of coming from a nation of people who pride themselves in looking different whose look I've rejected on ideological grounds, and how the birds are waking up outside while the people in the beat-up cars leaving the casino parking lot probably think I'm some sort of annoying early-bird when really I've just stepped out for a smoke because I finally ran out of Jack Daniels.  I don't know if I should flip the switch on the motel coffee-maker or go for a walk and watch the sun rise over the swamps on this, the first day of winter, or try to catch as many winks as I can squeeze in at this impossible hour to fully milk the day I'll have with my dad tomorrow (though he'll certainly understand when I tell him I stayed up all night reading and writing--he's awesome supportive like that).  And finally, the romantic in me wants to look back on this day two years ago and discuss the significance, but I'll say bye for now instead and maybe switch this to the analog journal.  Bye!
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