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I was on my way back from Millersville. I had to fuel up (went to the beer store) and when I was crossing Duke street heading home, low and behold there was an unopened half case of beer along side the road. Holy shit! I slowed down, to jump out and grab it (as any soon-t0-be-hero would), when I saw that it was Bud Light. Sorry, but I'm not bringing that shit home or anywhere; free as it may be. I quickly sped away in the Dodge van.

Go ahead, it's yours...it's probably still there.

Ahhh...today was the first day for me on the set for the filming of an independent film. Yes, I know...everyone is talking about it...yes I know...I was there.

With out knowing it, I had apparently scored the lead role. We got the news yesterday afternoon. Damn right I was nervous. The director gave me the news, and my stomach went to knots. Straight to Knottsville Nelssesee. I was a mess. I immediately started practicing my lines and went on a diet. With only twenty four hours to go until filming, I had a lot of work to do and weight to lose.

The director knew that I was a method actor, and had no problem putting the reigns into my hands. I mean, I'm a concrete worker for crying out loud...who would think for one minute that I could not handle acting as the lead man in a romantic comedy drama thriller.

No, but seriously I was nervous. With every sit-up and push-up I did between running and quitting smoking, I wondered: Can I do this? Am I the right man for the job? Can I act like anything other than a complete moron? The answer was...yes.

For the rest of the day and night I trained and practiced. I rolled the script in my hand and smashed beer cans with it...while yelling loudly. My family knew to let me alone, for they had all seen me in training before; it's not pretty. Actually it's quite ugly. When I train, I lose all senses and this machine becomes inapproachable.

That fact alone had me feeling some guilt, and the slight guilt shed some light onto the fact that: I don't have the time or energy or need to be playing the lead in some independent film. No. This is not the right time. I'm already caught up in some pipe dream of writing a stupid book that no one will ever read. Acting? Lead? C'mon dude...get a grip.

I started writing the director a very heart felt/remorseful text message about my already struggling schedule and responsibilities. I knew that this was going to break his heart, because he had his vision set with me as the lead. 'Dudes feelings are about to be crushed...

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was the director. That's it. I will tell him over the phone and let him down easy. Hell, if he needs me to I'll drive over to the set and we can talk about it face to face; just so he may not feel so much pain and hopefully he'll get where I'm coming from.

I started to tell him:

"Hey, listen man...I really appreciated the opportunity and all, but... I'd really be kidding myself and leading you along to think that I'm going to have time for any involvement in this movie for other than something minimal...I mean...I'm just not sure I will be able to play the lead-...and I'm really sorr-"

He cut me off with laughter.

"Oh...NO!....(laughter continues) No, Matt...we have REAL actors to play all the parts in the film...for tomorrow we just need some faces for some promotional shots...to help get some momentum going. (I hear him tell the others around him about me thinking I was going to be the lead, and hear raging laughter in the background) hahahahahahahah...."

I laughed also, but not with the same demeanor.

"Ok, cool. That's cool, because I wasn't sure earlier when you said that...."

He cut me off quickly to get back to his (now) mocking conversation at the bar and said he'd see me in the morning.

After my family festivities last night, I ended up drinking way way too much alcohol. Maybe I was trying to drown my feelings about losing the lead...maybe I was just letting them go down too easy on a Friday evening...whatever the reason, I did it. And, MAN was I hurting today at the photo shoot. I almost puked on my fellow 'actors' and on set props. It was that bad that I actually tried to cut the pain with a few beers- total loser move. The extra alcohol helped for a bit and then came around to bite me in the ass. I left the set early in a hissy. I was half drunk AND lost the phaux lead to Josh Eves.

Who is Josh Eves? Well he's obviously more handsome than me...he's taller, more clean cut and doesn't have gray hair in his beard. He doesn't have a beard. He's an asshole and he's the phaux lead. There you go.

I listened to the louder songs on my way home.

The traffic moved in time to the music and I had missed the setting sun by three hours on my way home from work. For some reason the sunset was something that I really wanted to see today.

I get stoked staring at the sun on the way home after crawling on concrete slabs all day in the dark. Mushy...

The grinding cartilage had crushed my afternoon ambitions for this evening. I'm stinky and grumpy and hungry. I'm pissed and sore...broke...trust me, we don't want to hang out. These songs are reading my mind. They've got me thinking about how my inspirations and destructive motives are on the same page; laid out like some sort of fucked up spread sheet...but there's not really a good formula that makes it work out right...or look right...or balance. Fuck that. I suck at math and decide to through the scratchings out the window.

You just gotta love listening to mood music so loud in the earphones that it makes your ear drums itch and burn. Don't you? I would have listened louder if it was possible.

I was sore as hell and this traffic and depressing music and missing sunset really really had me wishing for a flask of whiskey between my legs instead of a set of sore testicles.

The drive home took forty eight hours and eventually my mood moved to manic. Ahhh.

Two days later now and it is Thanksgiving Day. I'm very thankful...Ah! Dog just licked my armpit. Sweet. The Arment's are waking and stirring and getting ready to drive around the state to relatives.

I just got back from my semi-annual trip to K-mart. It's open alright. And full of anxious consumers. They're all miserable...except for me and the drunk lady. She was really loud with her descriptions to her kids about the items in different isles, and kept crashing her cart. She smelled like Gin and I bet by turkey time, she's gonna be passed out in her chair, feet in the air snoring like a bear. I bet.

I just had to run in to buy a clean pair of pants. Sadly, every article of clothing that I have ever owned (or will own) falls to quick death in the trenches of concrete work. This morning I tried to find a clean pair of something, but came up empty handed. Quickly I took the PT Cruiser to K-mart with 'Licensed to Ill' blaring to pick up two pairs of Basic Edition wrinkle resistant double pleats. I've given up on Dickies. The Basic Edition wrinkle resistant double pleats are a more comfortable (though slightly less durable) pant that is both affordable and very stylish. And for $10.99, you can't beat it! -Unless Salvation Army is open (it was not) and if your politics on China made clothing keeps you from wearing such garbage (not today).

Very Thankful, Loving America...Have a good one, people.

My main man and favorite Lancasterian Oliver Wilson is an artist.

Some of his newest paintings will be on display and 'priced to sell' on Friday, December 3rd (Lancaster's famous for it's "first Friday" art nights and party experiences) at the Keppel building on Queen street. I'm pretty sure that his exhibit will be on the upper floor. I asked for details and we joked about something that did not relate to this night, and the information was lost somewhere between a lunch break and truck ride. Hike your ass up there and meet the man, and check out his art.

Ollie paints figures and situations with an original style that warms skin and makes people smile. Many titles for pieces are a play on words and reflect images from the mind of our area's friendliest subtle genius.

Ollie Wilson. December Third. Keppel Building.

Restaurant Fart

Time stood still. I did not move, but looked from side to side with out moving my head, just maxing my peripheral. It was as though there was an elephant in the room...and nobody wanted to talk about it.

I accidentally farted very loudly in a very public place. It was at Mexitaly in York; a highly recommended Mexican/Italian restaurant (get it) with reasonably priced fresh food. It is very close to an area that I work in often...so I eat there with great pleasure some what often.

My English is shaky because I am still getting over this incident.

It was as though there was an elephant in the room...and nobody wanted to talk about it. I've never used that expression before, and am actually wondering the origin and meaning. Is it to describe an uncomfortable situation? That's my guess, and that's how I'm using it...but really...an elephant? If there was an elephant in the room, I'd probably be somewhat stoked or amazed...as long as it wasn't killing people or looking like it was about to kill people. If it was just hanging out I think it would be cool. I think I may be missing some of the phrase. I don't know.

My accidental fart left me in a very uncomfortable situation...not like an elephant in the room that nobody wanted to talk about. It was a loud fart. It was me...we don't have to talk about it...I'm guilty as hell.

It was awkward. Almost the same feeling I would imagine to have if you had to tell the bride that she's got a booger at her nose.

"Hey, yeah...congratulations! It was a great ceremony, your dress looks nice, I'm so happy for you guys and....you've got a little...there's a...you might want to...sorry but you've got this little hanger...oh hell. Darling you've got a big nasty booger! I'm so sorry!"

She runs away crying with the boogie flopping in the wind.

The restaurant just reopened with a flock of anxious customers. There was a dirty construction worker sitting in the middle of the room frozen with guilt after leaving a loud fart.

Trains, Brains and Skateboards

The thing that always surprises me about public transportation is how 'at ease' every one else seems to be. They walk through the booths, down stairs and await the transport calm and silent. I; on the other hand seem to be rushing around, dropping things, swearing under my breath and am always rooting around my bag, looking for some important item that I have some how lost or forgot to bring.

There was a man across the tracks from my waiting spot that looked like the train he was waiting for was going to take him back the year 1930. He had the hat, the long coat, clear skin and a glare about him that no one has seen for a century.

This is my second train ride. You would think that I would be a little more relaxed about public transportation by now, but I'm not. And I'm nervous that my 'friend' David will not be at the Philadelphia station to pick me up, and I'll have a nervous break down and pass out....due to the fact that I am completely incapable of surviving in a big city with out someone to hold my hand. He's not answering the phone and right now I'm hot with anger. Dammit. Settle...breathe...

I'm taking this train to Philadelphia to go look at some concrete work. I would not be doing this if local work was plentiful. But really, I don't mind traveling for work, and Philly is no big deal. Dave's mother in law has a property that needs some expert attention, so here I come. Yup, Mr. Concrete on a train. If she decides that she wants me to do the work (after a fair pricing arrangement is agreed upon), I am going to consider the option of commuting by train to do the project. Won't it be cool to get on the 5:15 with the other working commuters? They'll have their brief cases and I'll be lugging concrete tools, saws and wheel barrow through the gates and onto the train. Maybe I'll make some friends. Maybe I'll....C'MON DAVE!!! ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE! IF I GET THERE AND YOU'RE NOT THERE I'M GONNA KILL YOU.THIS TRAIN RIDE IS FUN AND ALL, BUT I'VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN...(insert sound of received text message)....Ok, he got my panic stricken text messages and finally returned a response that he will be there and told me to 'chillax'. I don't really like that word. “Chillax”. It's another one of these 'words' that society has formed by taking two words, misspelling them and adding them to our already struggling culture. It's stupid and I really encourage any readers to stop using such words. Thank you.

Ok, next question. Is there a shitter on this train? Am I supposed to know where it's at? Does everyone else know where it's at, and they're not telling me, because I'm the new guy? And is there is something that I'm supposed to know about the shitter, but it's privileged information? If I ask someone if there is a shitter on the train, and they say “No”, am I now looking like an idiot who's got to shit, and there's no where to go? In case any one is reading and hasn't figured it out yet....I have to crap and I'm on a train.

I'm just going to sit here and ignore my discomfort and continue typing. If (really I don't) I did care at all what people think about me on this train, the laptop computer and ability to type really well must make me look like some sort of professional; not a neurotic lunatic construction worker with social fears and a steamer in the chamber.

I guess the plan is to meet David at the train station, and go from there to his mother in law's to look at this project. He doesn't have a car today, so we are taking the subway. Subway? Are they scary? I've never been on one, and admit to having great fears of things I am unfamiliar with. Yes, I know...I'm primitive.

The train is really nice. The interior is recently refurbished. I can tell because the seats are nice and new, but there are spots in the armrests where ashtrays once were. I just tried to open up my ashtray, but it's not an ashtray anymore. It's a tease for someone who really wants to light up, and for a split second was fooled to think that society would let smokers pollute public air at any location...especially the tight confines of an Amtrak.

I like the train. This subway scares me. Aren't subways littered with graphitti? Don't they contain bullies who take your tokens and working class generics that look the other way when fights break out? Isn't that the subway? I don't like the subway. I'm a train-kind-of-dude. Ok, where's the shitter. My nerves are kicking in again.

My gosh. Business's turn their backs to the train tracks and show us commuters all their dirty habits and rust problems. Over flowing dumpsters and home-done-masonry make train commuters look ahead, as though there is something else to see. There's fences with holes and ametuer graphitti under bridges. The bridge pillars are a cheap canvas to any artists longing to bless the subway someday.

The structures outside are getting larger, and I bet it means we are getting closer to the city. Just a hunch. The farms have disappeared. The train is going slower and blowing the horn more often, and quite honestly, the graphitti is getting better.

There is an inconsistent rhythm in the rails running under us that is slowly driving me crazy. I wanted to bring head phones, and sort of forgot them. I may have forgotten them, or maybe I left them on my dashboard on purpose. I knew I would want to peck thoughts on the train ride, and any sort of music would have tainted my perspective and given these thoughts a clear unbalanced view of this awkward encounter.

The train is now going annoyingly slow and my laptop battery is almost dead....alright, where's the shitter?

(Three and a half hours later....)

Philadelphia left me with sore legs and a mild beer buzz. The subway was just like in the movies, but with no graphitti. Apparently 'muma' and 'wto3 crew' just paint the surrounding bridge pillars...oh, yes, you too 'Moose'.

Dave met me at the subway station near the train station. I had to ask a smoking Chinese man with one rotted eye ball where the nearest subway station would be, and he scolded me where it was while pointing profusely. Whatever, dude.

A loud man was loudly selling umbrellas on the corner of loud street. My shoes have a hole in them, and now I was wishing that this dude was selling dry socks, instead of shitty shit from Shitville.

I followed Dave and talked with excitement. My gallon of coffee sat in an empty stomach and worked it's magic of making me a mad man. Rhythmic gestures followed every description of recent Lancaster life.
The subway tiles amplified my rantings. People huddled in the halls and no one smiled. I talked more and Dave murmured responses that I could not understand. There is a good possibility that he was high on pot. He sent text messages to people and walked through the gates with his head down reading responses. I followed him too close and awkwardly, like a puppy who is having a hard time with the master's proximity and as if the leash between them was to pull them closer together; not to keep one from running away from the other.

We rode four different subway trains, and when we arrived at the house to look at the concrete work, I swear that we were only three blocks from the train station.

It rained like crazy while we discussed the project's possibilities. I was able to use words such as 'bullshit' while describing problem areas of Dave's Mom-in-Law's porch. I used such slang because she made me feel comfortable. My tongue gets loose and my defenses drop when I am in my comfort zone...look out.

The rain didn't seem to bother Dave's M.I.L., and she chatted relentlessly. We were soaked to the bone and my skateboard was getting wet. Finally our ride 'Don' showed up. We were now free to go and jumped in his car. From here, the three of us would go across the city to ride skateboard at the Philly warehouse: a secret society's hideout that contains a mecca of transitional terrain for stunt wood.

Don drove his car across town like he was trying to win some sort of race. I said prayers in the back seat and missed my Amtrak train for travels. Dave spoke clear and freely, now that his morning bong hits had worn off. He didn't tell me, I just knew.

The warehouse was empty, and the three of us had a pretty good session. I was getting hungry and was thirsty for beer. Dave had promised to buy lunch, but I was sure that his stoner logic made him forget about it. Oops...'space'. -That's what stoners call forgetting. They don't 'forget' things, they 'space'.

Example:
“Yeah I was totally going to go to work yesterday, and then I just spaced.”

I was sure that Dave had 'spaced' about promising me lunch. THEN all of the sudden, there was cold beer and pizza on the deck of the ramp. Pabst pounders and some hot pie from “The best place in town” is what Don said.

Needless to say, I was stoked, and forgave Dave for lying to me about lunch.

The skateboards and beer and pizza and bros combo had me spacing on the fact that I live in Millersville...and I had a train to catch. If Dave would have bought more beer, I would no doubt still be in Philadelphia and smashing my walls of matrimony. But, when the beer was gone, Don Earnhardt muscled his way through town to get me to the station fifteen minutes early. You son of a bitch!

Ahh...now I am Lancaster bound on my trusty Amtrak and would like to let you know that the Downingtown Moose lodge has bingo AND karaoke this Friday at 6:30. It's right across the street from their train station. I just saw the advertisement pass as we pulled away.

Whew...I am suddenly sleepy. I'm going to try and snooze for bit. 'Hope I don't end up in Pittsburgh.

Float On!

I could preface this writing piece with many details about a wonderful weekend that I just enjoyed with my son and a great group of friends...trust me, that all happened... but then I had to drive home from the beach and deal with rising realities. Ollie and I took the Cape May to Lewes ferry. It was a great experience and I can't believe that it was fricking thirty years since my last crossing.




There's a weird air in the nostalgia that fumes thirty years deep. It was weird and at some points I was feeling like my entire life had just flown by me. My son's age and honesty were making me slightly jealous and remorseful.







(Italicized and quoted text comes from a variety of songs by modest mouse)

"Well he just drove off sometimes life's ok
I ran my mouth off a bit too much oh what did I say
Well you just laughed it off it was all ok"

The regrets and remorse were easily covered by the sound of Oliver's voice. We had a blast and the rest of this story kinda starts at the point of the van going off the boat ramp and Ollie falling asleep shortly there after.

The day of leaving the beach is always so painful. I can remember being a kid, in the back seat of my parent's station wagon whipping through the stink of Avondale, with some Fleetwood Mac crackling on the radio. I was very young and having heavy emotional issues after leaving my favorite place on earth. We were leaving, and as far as I could tell, we may never return. All the shells in the world wouldn't actually bring the beach home with me and this made my little heart hurt...and then there was this awful smell in this totally weird town with green fire trucks and this beautiful but depressing song on the radio being sung by an angel. I'm totally fucked.

Driving home from the beach depresses the shit out of me.

Today I drove 80 in 55's and listened to the loudest Modest Mouse I could find.

"Turn off the light 'cause it's night on the sun
You're hopelessly hopeless
I hope so, for you"

It wasn't helping matters that while I was at Stone Harbor I fell deeply in love with a rusty old beach cruiser bicycle named "Michelle". She had no grips on the handle bars and the kick stand would hold her up at just the last minute, and it left her leaning toward or away from me...depending on which side I left her...or approached her. Damn if there wasn't something oddly romantic about this bike.

I missed her greatly and couldn't even say good bye. When the time came, I felt really weird and it just didn't feel right...I mean, it was only a weekend, but I swore we knew each other a lifetime. And telling Alana that I had fallen deeply in love with a beach cruising bicycle named "Michelle" was not a bridge I would consider crossing.

"Everything that keeps me together is falling apart,
I've got this thing that I consider my only art of fucking people over
...Your heart felt good it was drippin' pitch and made of wood
And your hands and knees felt cold and wet on the grass to me
Outside naked, shiverin' looking blue, from the cold sunlight that's reflected off the moon"

The drive was now starting to drag and steam in Sunday's rain. We approached Dover with rhythmless red brake lights flashing ahead. This NASCAR traffic was killing me. I wished them all quick trips to hell and cursed the monster mile.

The toll booth attendant appreciated my sincerity and kindness, but I would bet the farm that she would have preferred a stiff drink and some pills.

"Even if things get heavy, we'll all float on.
Alright already, we'll all float on alright."

Naturally, the boy driving the loud VW in front of me began to annoy; and I imagined ripping those stupid plugs out of his stretched ear lobes and shoving them up his ass.

After his 100th unnecessary, very abrupt and loud downshift, I nearly 'rammed' into him, and hence had to 'dodge' away into the other lane. He waved a middle finger from his window, and I reached across the dash to give a 'thumbs up' toward his side view mirror.

He took my lane change as a challenge, and began racing me. He zoomed ahead quickly to annoy more drivers. He had a girl in the front seat beside him. I'm pretty sure that she hates his guts as well, but hasn't found the way to tell him yet. This kid is 'what is wrong with America', and I hated him just from the shear fact that he is contributing to the decline of our civilization. Fucking dick. And by the way, dude...I wasn't racing you...I let you and your stupid car get ahead.


"Well that is that and this is this.
You tell me what you want and I'll tell you what you get.
You get away from me. You get away from me."

The NASCAR traffic and it's participants eventually faded into the steam. Oliver woke up hungry and started to pest me into a better mood. We stopped and ate at a McDonald's and I am quickly remembering why I refused their food for so many years. It's all smoke and mirrors. It's fucking junk. BUT, my kid enjoys a happy meal here and there, just like I did at his age. I can't deny him what I know is bad for him just because now I know it is, can I? No. It's some shitty food that comes with a toy...fuck it. I'm even hating the fact that I'm admitting to consuming fast food...and it makes me feel like some sort of villain.

I had the fillet of fish, because everyone knows that fish is so much more healthy for you than red meat...ew! Red meat is so bad for you and gross! Gimme the fish! Gosh I feel so much more healthy now eating this square breaded thing on a bun.

The last leg of the drive felt easier on the heart. My little man was up and I was able to stop dreaming of "Michelle" and the smell of salt water.

The lingering traffic didn't bother me on the more and more familiar roadways. I got dangerously close to the bumper of a mini van that was littered with stickers pledging allegiance to nearly every cause under the sun. I took note to some of the causes and hoped that her advertising helped their effort. She even had one of those ribbon sort of stickers (the type that usually reminds of autism and breast cancer) posted largely on the rear window. I crept in a bit more to read what it could be that she was also passionate about...and there it read "I love my Guinea Pig."