Indiana Jones Hour One: The Adventure Begins

So perhaps you’ve noticed that we’re halfway through May and I’ve only posted twice. Something I learned in February, though, when the Academy Awards were on, is that if you watch some sort of television event, and post all your thoughts on it hourly, then you can generate a lot of posts. So today I am going to blog my watching of all three Indiana Jones movies, which are being shown today on the SciFi channel in preparation for the new Indiana Jones that is coming out soon.

So not only will I increase my posting, I will provide a public service for everyone who wants to get ready for the new movie but does not have the time to sit down and watch the first three movies themselves. I myself have only vague memories of what happens in which movies.

So to set the scene, it is 1 pm on a Sunday. I just got out of the shower and I have never watched anything on the SciFi channel before so I am pretty excited about that. It is a little overcast and if it were nicer I’d probably be out on my deck. But then we would be deprived the hours of fun that we’re about to have.

So while I was typing all that we had the opening credits of “Raiders of the Lost Ark” and Indiana Jones, who is played by Harrison Ford in case you don’t know, is about to go into a cave. A poison dart has indicated that enemies are fresh on these explorers’ trail. Now they’re in the cave and they have spiders all over them! Then they discovered a skeleton. This is a very scary cave. I hope they get what they want out of it and that there are no double crosses amongst this staff.

Okay, so what he wants is a golden head. He takes it and makes the gods angry. Oh crap. There is a double cross by his assistant, who is going to take the idol and leave Indiana Jones to die. OH NO EXCEPT HE DIED.

Now there is a big ball chasing Indy. He survives only to have the idol taken away. Then he is chased by a native tribe with firm asses and poison darts. He swims to his waiting plane but it has a snake in it. This guy is having a Very Bad Day.

Perhaps what he needs is a roast beef sandwich and some potato salad, which is what I made myself during the commercial break. We come back to the movie to see Indy teaching a class that is full of young women who just find him dreamy. Including a girl who wrote “Love You” on her eyelids.

Now Indy is in a meeting about the damn dirty Nazis, who are trying to get all the world’s religious artifacts. Indy immediately gathers that the damn dirty Nazis are after the ark of the covenant. This part of the movie is kinda important so that you know the significance of what they’re after but I’m a little too busy with my sandwich to type it all out.

So now Indy has got to get the ark before the damn dirty Nazis. He’s going to have to find his old mentor, who knows more about it than he does. He packs his suitcase with a jacket, a whip and a gun. So I guess we shouldn’t expect too many costume changes in this movie.

Okay I am finished with lunch so I’ll be able to focus a little more. Indy is getting on a plane but someone treacherous is on board with him. You can tell by the ominous music and the way he peers at Indy from behind a Life magazine. Only badasses read Life.

Actually I bet that guy can’t even read.

A line that shows the airplane’s progress lets us know that we have flown to Nepal, where there is a drinking contest taking place. This scene kinda scared me when I was little because you know the part where Karen Allen falls asleep and people think she is done? I got really worried for her, like maybe she was seriously injured. I just looked it up on IMDB and Karen Allen was 30 when she made this movie. This really relieves me. I was scared that she’d be my age or younger in this movie, and then I’d have to question how my life was going. What if she were my age and had already been in an Indiana Jones movie? That would make me feel just awful.

So now Marion is alone in her bar and she has Indy’s money and the artifact he is looking for in her shirt. Now treacherous guy is here. He has a German accent so that should be an immediate tip-off that this guy is going to be a damn dirty Nazi, albeit a wimpy one who can’t stomach cigarette smoke. The guy threatens her with a hot iron but I have a hunch that Indy will save her…and yep there he is. Unfortunately it will be a race against time because that hot iron has also set the bar on fire. Now people are getting set on fire and getting shot and it is really intense. The German gets his hand burned by the artifact. That guy really needs to learn to deal with fire.

Now Marion, who’s bar has been burned to the ground, is going to tag along with Indy because she has the medallion. What I predict is that she is going to be more of a liability than a help. Now they are in Cairo and Marion’s first act as Indy’s partner is to acquire a monkey. See what I mean about being a liability? What are the chances this monkey will ever be anything but a burden or perhaps lead to disaster?

Marion is rocking some high-waisted red pants as she and Indy stroll through a market and eat dates. The monkey finds a guy with an eye patch and the two of them start following Indy and Marion. They are bantering cutely unaware of all the people after them. Now a fight has broken out in the market. Indy puts Marion on a hay cart where she belongs but she escapes and tries to fight off a guy with a frying pan. Then she hides in a basket but the monkey finds her and betrays her location. I coulda told her that monkey was a mistake.

Did you know Barack Obama had a monkey when he lived in Indonesia?

One day Harrison Ford was sick and instead of filming a big long whip fight, he just ended up shooting the guy. They just had that scene. Also did you know that Tom Selleck was up for the role of Indiana Jones and couldn’t get out of his Magnum PI contract? HOW WOULD OUR WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF TOM SELLECK HAD BEEN INDIANA JONES?????? Let’s all ponder that as hour one of watching Indiana Jones comes to an end.

squeaky voices

Well, I have been to a few concerts lately and I thought I should do a concert blog. I must admit that I’ve had writers block about this post because it’s the first concert blog since my brother did an excellent write-up about a Tom Russell concert he went to, and I can’t think of anything that’s gonna make this one as good. But here we go anyways.

First up, a show last week with Amy LaVere and Langhorne Slim. Wikipedia describes Amy Lavere’s music as “a blend of classic country, gypsy jazz, and southern soul,” but we all know that we can’t always trust Wikipedia, primarily because they used a comma after the second item in a repeating series and according to AP style, that shouldn’t be done. Wikipedia also notes that she has been in movies, including “Walk the Line” (as Wanda Jackson) and “Black Snake Moan”.

I have a copy of Amy LaVere’s latest album which is called “Anchors and Anvils,” which starts with a song about killing one’s lover and features on the cover a picture of Amy Lavere holding a sparkly gun. I need to get a gun like that. A sparkly one. That’s the kind of gun I could cling to in these times when I’m bitter. In concert Amy plays an upright bass and that also looked pretty bad-ass.

I found Langhorne Slim’s CD in the Seattle Public Library a few years ago and I had never heard of the guy but I couldn’t resist this cover:

So I borrowed the CD from the library and have always liked it. There are some songs on there that are good for jumping around. But he’s way better in concert. I would go so far as to say he is kick-ass in concert. Wikipedia does not provide a description of the music as it does for Amy Lavere (it does offer the fun facts that his real name is Sean Scolnick and his birthday is August 20) so all I can do is offer you this video to see for yourself: http://youtube.com/watch?v=zehZX3UJKOY. I think he’s going somewhere, so much so that when I was standing behind him at the bar, I contemplated stealing the receipt that he’d just signed. But I didn’t.

So if you watched the video, you might notice that he has kind of a squeaky voice. So did Amy Lavere in her little between-song banter. But in my house, the ultimate in squeaky voices is Nanci Griffith, who has inspired my parents to go around the house saying “thank you very much” or “thank you kindly” in high voices. Cause that’s what Nanci Griffith does. She used to teach kindergarten and my dad thinks she never really lost that high-voiced way of talking to children. Just in her talking, not so much in the singing.

Anyways, this weekend I went to Black Mountain, NC with my dad to see Nanci Griffith at the LEAF Festival. I think LEAF stands for L’hippie E’hippie A’hippie F’hippie. I’m just kidding, hippies. You’re all nice people, it’s just that there were an awful lot of you at the LEAF festival, and most of you had spent the previous two days camping together. I just wasn’t ready for all of you. Sorry I didn’t make it for the drum circle. I just came for Nanci.

Nanci put on a great show despite very heavy winds (tornados were ripping across the state), a hand injury that left her unable to play the guitar (for only the second show in her life, she said) and barbeque smoke that would sometimes render her unable to sing or speak. According to her, every time she turned to one side of the stage, the smoke from the nearby concession stands would go down her throat. Maybe it was the smoke, but she didn’t sound as squeaky this time.

But this barbeque smoke had a benefit for me, because I was sitting on the other side of the concession stands, so she was looking over my way a lot. I’d like to think we made eye contact and created a sort of mind meld. I was commanding her with my mind meld to play “Across the Great Divide” and that happened, so all I can say is watch out, I think I might have discovered some mind meld capabilities.

Nanci has this song called “It’s a Hard Life Wherever You Go” and she said that if she has her way in November, she’ll stop singing the song because Barack Obama will make everything better. Dad said that was a good enough reason for him not to vote for Barack Obama because he would rather she keep singing the song. It is a good song, but I don’t know why Nanci Griffith’s endorsement is not enough for my dad to support Barack Obama. Doesn’t he know that celebrity endorsements are supposed to decide things for us? They’re like the super-super-delegates.

fish sticks

I thought everyone might like an update on my fish, Alvin. Yesterday was our two-week anniversary. We’ve had some highs and lows (mostly lows) but we are finally finding our footing. Here is a review of our time together:

--In the first few days after I brought Alvin home I was wracked with tremendous guilt. What if the next person in the pet store was going to take him home to a gigantic 1000 gallon aquarium? He would have had a much more exciting life than being stuck in a little bowl. I did not think he looked very happy in the bowl.

--For most of the past two weeks I have been convinced that Alvin is blind, because he would come right up near his fish food, and he would open his mouth like he was going to eat, but he would always miss the food. I didn’t see him eat something until yesterday. Maybe he thought I was trying to poison him.

--Alvin seems to have figured out that my current fear in life is coming home from work and finding him dead. So he’s developed a hilarious routine where he hovers near the top of the bowl and does not move even a gill. I freak out because I think he has died. Then he moves again. That’s so funny, Alvin. So funny.

--Last week I had to change Alvin’s water and it really caused some trust issues between us. I guess it caused him some trauma and he got very skittish whenever I was nearby. We are doing a little better now but I will probably have to change his water again soon. I fear it will be a vicious cycle.

--He has this little frog in the tank with him who is supposed to serve as decoration. I think they might be having an affair. Alvin is obsessed with that frog.

--Alvin continues to be a very good swimmer and he shows off his big flashy tail a lot. Right now he is swimming up on the side of the bowl like maybe eventually he’ll find a way out.

I guess that’s about it. In conclusion, I’d like to thank my brother George, who used to work in a pet store and has had to answer a lot of questions about fish. Also when I called him to wish him happy birthday, I had a minor freakout that Alvin was dead. I hope that didn’t ruin your birthday, George. It turns out he wasn’t dead.

the Greats of Wrap

When I was in high school, I was a member of the Future Homemakers of America (FHA). They changed the name when I was a senior in high school, just in time for me to fill out college applications. Not that I’m demeaning the name. It’s important to make a home for oneself and for one’s family, but people still think of it as an old-fashioned cookie baking club.

Well, it wasn’t. It offered an opportunity to complete service projects and present them on pretty display boards and compete at the local, state and national level over who had the most meaningful project/the coolest display board. I did this every year that I was in high school and I always made it to state competition, which was held in Greensboro, North Carolina.

The hotel in Greensboro was next to a mall, a convenient diversion for the hundreds of teenage girls who came to town for competition (yes, there were a few boys too). And it was in that mall that I had some of my most formative food court experiences. There was this restaurant called Great Wraps, and I always ate there. We were there for like 2 or 3 days, and we ate all our meals in that food court, and I ate all of mine at Great Wraps. I had never seen one anywhere else, so going to Greensboro not only evoked excitement about competing, but I always got pretty excited about going to Great Wraps.

Then, my senior year of high school, I went to that mall, and Great Wraps was gone. I can distinctly remember thinking, “Well, it’s a good thing I’m graduating. Because I never ever want to come to this godforsaken town again,” or something like that. Luckily, I wasn’t deprived long, because shortly thereafter I went to college in Atlanta, and there in the food court was a Great Wraps. Yes, that very same food court that now is the subject of the Great Food Court Project.

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a Great Wraps outside of the southeast, so those three years in Seattle were three Great Wraps-less years. But now, I work but 15 minutes away from a Great Wraps, and today, I could bear the wait no longer. Today, I went back to Great Wraps as part of the Great Food Court Project.

First off, I’d like to say that my visit was marred by two things. One thing was that the woman at the table next to me was loudly talking about Miley Cyrus. Doesn’t that woman read my blog? Doesn’t she know that I am sick to death of hearing about Miley Cyrus? The second thing was the hard-to-see placement of the Great Wraps menu (a recurring problem in this food court), which left me kinda squatting right in front of the guy waiting to take my order as I tried to find the thing I wanted to order on the menu.

Because, oh man, did I know what I wanted to order—a cheesy chicken wrap. I remembered it as being the only thing on the menu, but maybe it’s just the only thing I ever ordered. Their menu does seem to be a bit bigger now. It has wraps, salads, and chicken fingers. The sides are curly fries and two other things that I can’t remember but it doesn’t matter because you should get the curly fries.

Anyway, I found the cheesy chicken wrap which had been renamed something silly. They’ve basically renamed all the wraps after places, such as Woodstock Hummus and Vegas Caesar Wrap. Another new addition that I noticed was a wide variety of fry seasonings available. Unlike the newly named wraps, this is a great addition. I didn’t have time to take down all the flavors, but basically you can sprinkle your curly fries with various seasonings, such as ranch and cajun.

The wrap…the perfection of the cheesy chicken wrap will never be adequately captured in words. It’s this warm, thick pita that embraces chicken, melted cheese, honey mustard sauce, carmelized onions and lettuce. These ingredients come together in some sort of magical poetic harmony that makes you feel like your life is going okay after all. What I’m trying to get across is that this wrap was blessedly as wonderful as I remembered it.

While I was in line, I briefly wondered if I might prolong the Great Food Court Project by eating every single thing on the Great Wraps menu and reviewing it, because if the cheesy chicken is so heavenly, then probably everything else is too, right? It’s an idea, but it’s hard for me to contemplate eating anything other than the cheesy chicken. It’s a perfect meal.

Now, this brings me to a larger point. If you have been confused about why I’d pursue eating at food courts, then I’d wager it’s likely that you don’t have a Great Wraps. Or a Great Wraps emotional equivalent. By that I mean a restaurant that you love that can only be found in a mall. Chick-fil-a used to be like this to some extent, but now they have a lot of stand-alone stores (God, I can only hope that Great Wraps becomes a popular franchise also). But for me, the experience of walking into a food court and spotting a Great Wraps is one of the reasons I like to eat at malls. It really is possible for food courts to offer something special that you can’t get in the outside world. And if that something special is drenched in honey mustard sauce, so much the better.

Miley Cyrus is really bringing me down.

You know, I wasn’t going to write about this, because it doesn’t seem like a nice thing to complain about a teenager.

But it has been hard to gather up the energy to blog lately, ever since it was announced that Miley Cyrus was going to make a gazillion dollars to write her memoirs.

Now, I have problems with most actors, singers, artists, etc who are younger than me, because it makes me feel like I’m unaccomplished and behind in life somehow. I also don’t like celebrities who are hyphenates, i.e. singers who are actors or vice versa. So unfortunately, Miley Cyrus offends me on two levels already.

But look. This kind of offends me as a writer, and I can’t think of a single 15-year-old who would have an interesting memoir. I don’t care if you’re Hannah Montana or not.

I’ve given it some thought, and this is the only memoir by a fifteen-year-old that I would read:
Chapter 1: What it’s like to be the product of immaculate conception
Chapter 2: “The Second Lindbergh Baby”: What It Was Like to be Kidnapped by the Russian Mob.
Chapter 3: How I crawled away from Russian mobsters and ended up on the front steps of the White House with the help of talking animals.
Chapter 4: Government secrets I learned at the age of 3 in the White House
Chapter 5: The bitter custody battle: why four countries and six celebrities fought over who was going to raise me.
Chapter 6: The Years with Magical Nanny Mary Poppins
Chapter 7: How John Cusack taught me how to read on the set of the movie that we both won Academy Awards for.
Chapter 8: My balloon trip around the world at the age of seven
Chapter 9: My 10th birthday party in Las Vegas
Chapter 10: Olympic Gold!
Chapter 11: Middle school…it’s no fun for anyone, but helping to cure cancer made it kinda okay for me.
Chapter 12: The youngest winner of Project Runway and American Idol: How I was able to win both shows simultaneously without annoying the world.
Chapter 13: My romance with Doogie Howser, M.D.
Chapter 14: Gossip about famous people I know.
Chapter 15: Foods that are delicious.
Chapter 16: Things I’ve invented that have improved humanity
Chapter 17: My search for my real parents (Are you there God? It's me, Margaret)
Chapter 18: Miley Cyrus has a weird mouth and I’m so sick of scandals that involve her being scantily clad.
Chapter 19: I understand that writing a book when you’re 15 years old is kinda disgusting, but really, don’t you think I have had a really interesting life so far? Much more interesting than Miley Cyrus?

Now that’s a book I would read.

Book #2: How Can I Keep From Singing?

The book: How Can I Keep From Singing? The Ballad of Pete Seeger, by David King Dunaway

What is this book about: It’s a biography of Pete Seeger.

Why did I read this book: I have been looking for this book forever. Whenever I went into a bookstore, new or used, I’d check to see if they had a copy. I knew the book was out of print, but I held out hope. Then one day, not only did I find a copy, it was a revised version of the original, with corrections and input provided by Pete Seeger. So thank goodness I didn’t read the old version.

What did I think of this book: I recently watched Pete Seeger: The Power of Song on PBS. It’s a documentary that just makes you feel that you can change the world with hope and a song. I think if you want an idealistic view of Pete, just watch that. But I read an interview with Pete where he describes it as something like, “a little to elegiac.” A little too much of a loving obituary for someone who’s not dead.

To my mind, this book was a little more of the warts-and-all view of Pete. Grumpy Pete and Disillusioned Pete show up a lot more than the Enthusiastic Singer Pete that you see in the PBS doc. At first it made me a little uncomfortable, but hero worship makes Pete Seeger uncomfortable. And I guess it’s a good reminder that you have to get angry about some things to put your life out there to change them.

What was my favorite part of this book: The section on the HUAC testimony and the fallout from that was pretty interesting.

What did I learn from this book: Intertwining your life with your art can make you miserable, but sometimes you don’t have a choice. Pete’s wife, Toshi, deserves a ton of credit for his success. Die with a hammer in your hand. The right song at the right time can change the world. Even if you’re blacklisted.

What I wish I had learned from this book: How to play the banjo.

What grade do I give this book: B-

Tom Russell, you bastards

This past week was a pretty good week for concerts…last Monday I saw Iron & Wine and this weekend I saw the Avett Brothers. Both put on excellent shows, two of the best I’ve seen all year. Still, not too much happened that would be interesting to blog about. Luckily, my brother George went to a concert recently and wrote a review, which means it’s time for another installment of SPECIAL GUEST BLOGGER!!!! And this is a great one, although be warned, it does contain some inside jokes based on lyrics you may or may not know. George and I discussed it, and decided if you don’t like it, that’s your problem, you bastards. So take it away, George!

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Last time I was a special guest blogger, I wrote about my sister and the choice ways (blatant abuse) of exposing (forcing) music on me through mix tapes. I enjoyed writing the blog and recently went to a Tom Russell concert and figured I would share. And to be honest, I’m struggling with the frequency Molly has been posting lately. Quite frankly, I’m not sure this recent Comcast cable dilemma and the new fish will pan out in terms of any new material for Molly to blog about… I mean 9 posts in March, what the fuck? If Molly keeps up this pace, we’re right on track for Molly trying to write 6 posts a day in the month of December to meet some arbitrary goal she set out doing for the year… But who is counting and enough about Molly. This blog is about Tom Russell, you bastards…

Tom Russell sings songs about love, heartache, floods, prisons, drunks, fighting roosters, cowboys, Indians, the Rio Grande, trains, drinking, hard work, horses, oppression, traveling, loneliness, heroes, antiheros, death, immigrants, whore houses, posses, outcasts, war, and searching for meaning and existence.

Now that I think about it, Tom and I have very similar things we choose to write about. My previous blog had underlying themes similar to Tom Russell’s songs. Like Tom Russell, I write about oppression and hardships. I guess I appeal to everyday people who long for freedom and equality. People who see and deal with injustices on a daily basis. Whether it’s enjoying the simple pleasures of having a choice to what tape you are going to listen to one day (out of two years) while riding in your sister’s car or feeling the pains of honest Americans being laid off of work after years of labor in a steel mill in Tom’s song “U.S. Steel.” I think everyone sees the link between the two. Right?

I started listening to Tom Russell when I was 12. My dad learned about Tom Russell through my uncle, or “Bill from Sioux City”, as Tom Russell knows him due to over 14 concerts and a train tour with him. Along with The Eagles, The Beatles, Nanci Griffith, and Jimmy Buffett, my dad regularly played Tom Russell’s CDs while riding in the car and around the house. As a little kid I really didn’t get a choice in what we listened to …(surprise surprise)…

Later in life, I found out that other kids really didn’t listen to this kind of music. As a kid, I NEVER owned or listened to a sing-a-long Disney tape that’s main purpose was to teach me to share, wash my hands, or count! I left the car/basement singing about wanting to “get high with a little help from my friends” and pondering why you would need a “waterbed filled up with Elmer’s glue”. That’s just ridiculous… That being said, I can also tell you that there is no fucking way my kid is going to be listening to any Lion King/Mufasa sing-a-long shit. If/when I have a kid, his or hers first record is going to be The Beatles’ Rubber Soul. That’s that. …Noticing a theme when it comes to my family, control, and music?

However, getting drunk and screwing or developing alter-egos and taking acid trips was child’s play when it came to Tom Russell. There was no singer that I feared more growing up than Tom. As a 12 year old, you just can’t shake songs about roosters pecking each other to death as their owners bet their livelihood to save the family farm. I’d say songs about Japanese internment camps were a little much as well.

Needless to say, Tom was a little advanced for me when I was 12. I guess I really wasn’t able to relate in terms of different life experiences. At that point, the only flood I’d experienced was in our basement when the water heater broke. The biggest thing I had ever searched for was my Hulk Hogan action figure that my brother took from me. I only related bourbon whisky to my grandmother who drank it before dinner while we watched the 6 o’clock news. Now that I think about it, the last example is kind of random and a little awkward…

Jump 12 years ahead… Tom puts on a great show and is as intense as ever. To be honest, I’m still fearful and easily the youngest person in the audience. At times, I feel like I’m sitting in class listening to an American history lecture or getting my Masters in Folk Music. Tales of dinner with Johnny Cash and drinking in NYC apartments channeling Bob Dylan were great. He played a lot of new stuff but closed with a good old song about cockfighting and taunts the audience saying he’s not doing to “play no stinking rooster song”…

Anyway, Tom has been posting to his blog more than Molly has, and if you are interested in getting a brief glimpse into Tom’s mind, I highly recommend it. You could also read the account below, where I tried to channel the man himself. The concert review written with a Tom Russell style…

We rode into Charlotte after 50 miles of rain soaked asphalt. The grey colored clouds linger heavy like the cheap speed and Cognac we enjoyed the night before. We find the dive where our fate awaits and decide to eat across the street at Boudreaux’s. A Louisiana kitchen that time forgot about. Billy, our waiter, moves slow bringing us beer and fried alligator before our meal of crab cake croissant sandwiches. People say gator is like salmon in how it takes on the flavor of what is cooked with. I disagree, Billy is a bastard. I think of the salmon fisherman up in Alaska and the time I spent up there. We tip our hats and leave singing Ava Maria, or at least the parts we knew.

We get to the show early, as dad doesn’t like to sit far back. I wait as dad grabs more beer. It’s cold in here. The cold reminds me of the winter of 93. It was cold back then. I wish I brought my Columbia fleece vest that’s out in the car. That would warm me like the warmth of her love before she headed down the Rio Grande like so many before. A man dressed in black sings his heart out and I’m reminded of Amsterdam and the Dutchman. As the show goes on it gets warmer in the dive. I sit back and think about how crazy I was for thinking the vest was a good idea. I’m glad it’s in the car, where it should be. That would have been way too warm. Way too warm. Intermission. (Intermission.) That’s a fragment, but I don’t give a damn, you bastards…
We get up and make our way over to the man in black. I’m amazed at the fearlessness that dad approaches him. Wait… Typical, now he’s explaining who he and his brother are. I don’t think he understands. I’m relieved. Wow he’s signing my poster. We talk about the poster. It’s old. Old like 12 years of time rubbed dark and raw. I mutter that I’ve been a fan since I was young. Tom repeats what I say. I don’t know where this is going. I’m confused. I’m going to go sit down. Wow that was close… He could have killed me.

Another set and an encore. I leave amazed and satisfied, like I just had eggs over a t-bone steak. We saddle up and try to figure out the way back to the highway. We make a couple of wrong turns and end up in a bad part of town. Real bad. (another fragment, you think I give a shit) I don’t think this part of town would appreciate the American craftsmanship that went into my fleece vest. I’m going to take it off. Wow, next time, I’m just not going to bring this fucking fleece. It’s been so much trouble. Dad lock the doors. This isn’t good. Why do all the stores have bars on them? I mean French-Canadian Racketeers and rednecks from down south I could have anticipated and fought. But 12:00 on the other side of the tracks, the tracks the Japanese laid down, is not good. Oh thank God, a sign for the highway. Let’s stock up on more cheap speed and coffee. Tomorrow we will go to work, but tonight… tonight we ride…tonight we ride…