July 30th, 2003

i'm ready for my close up mr demille

(no subject)

A couple of miles up the road from my parent's is this house where J.L. Royalty used to live. I used to work for him during the summer when I was in high school. He doesn't live there anymore. Katie McDaniel - the preacher's daughter, my first-date-ever, the first girl I ever over-the-clothes felt up, Katie McDaniel - lived there, too but she doesn't live there any more either. In fact, I don't really know who lives there anymore. Which is funny because I can't figure out why the hell my car is parked in their driveway.

But I have to go get it and I have to walk. So this afternoon I decide to take the 2 mile walk to this house from my parent's. It's a mild and breezy afternoon and I'm enjoying my walk. For entertainment purposes I've decided to bring a long this little book of really bad jokes - which is a really bad idea. I suck at doing more than one thing at a time. Ask anyone, if you talk to me while I'm driving I'm likely to miss turns or forget where I'm going altogether. So trying to walk and read at the same time is a bit challenging. I walk a little ways then realize I've strayed into the middle of the road and have to keep correcting my path. But it's the country, I'll hear something coming long before it ever gets to me and won't get hit by a car or anything.

After straying WAY too far into the road I look up from my book and out of curiosity I glance behind me. Much to my surprise, dismay, and embarrasment there is a Suburban creeping along at the pace I am languidly strolling in the road. It's so new and beautiful and convertible! Must be why I didn't hear it's engine - all that souped-up industrial-strength polymers and space-age technology. Now blushing I'm sure, I sheepishly smile and mouth the word "Sorry" while stepping aside.

The Suburban pulls along-side me and seated in the driver seat is a pretty woman and beside her is what I presume to be her husband - both about middle-aged. They ask me where I'm heading and, still recovering from the embarassment, fumble around with the words "road", "the" and "up" with enough cohesion to communciate my needs and they offer me a ride. Cool!

I begin to take a seat in the back when they insist on me riding shotgun. So they do a really bizarre switch-a-roo where he is now driving and she is riding in the back seat. But ok, whatever's clever. So now we're driving and making little conversations and the wind feels nice blowing my hair from my forehead. I forget to tell him we've reached the house because, well, I was talking and trying to navigate at the same time now and spoken words can be so much effort. The navigation simply got overlooked at a rather crucial moment in our brief journey and so I apologized profusely and we turned around in the church parking lot about a hundred yards on the other side of the house and headed back for it. I was sure to utter "First house on the right, now" as he was making his U-turn should I neglect my navigational duties again in the last 30 seconds of our trip.

We pulled into the driveway and I thanked them very much and slung open the door of the Suburban. I rotated slightly on my butt to throw my legs out of the car but for some reason they seemed a little heavier than usual. So I leaned way back, almost laying down and pushed my legs out the door until they were bending over the edge and my feet were resting on the ground. Was I in my sock feet? I know I'm absent minded and all but surely I put shoes on before I left, right? I sit myself up slowly and begin to inspect the situation and get out of the car and into mine. That's when I woke up sitting on the edge of my bed at 1:15 this morning.

Man, dreams are weird. Now I gotta get to Battle Creek.
i'm ready for my close up mr demille

Location: Benton Harbor, MI

It's weeks like these that I love my job. I think i worked a total of 5 hours yesterday. I've worked about 5 hours today too. I made the trip to Battle Creek. I'd forgotten how ugly of a town that is. This old trainstation was right beside where I dropped my trailer. I have to pick up a load at 9am tomorrow in Holland, MI, so for the afternoon I'm internet'n in Benton Harbor and will drive up later tonight. Anyone reading this today and wants to chat or something, you can hunt me down at soopageek@hotmail.com on MSN messneger. I'll probably be relatively bored and will welcome the conversation.

As for my journal crush. I spent five hours last night reading newest_fad's journal. And I only got through the first 5 months. She began it during a very weird and frightening time of her life. I couldn't stop reading. If on my account you have begun reading her journal, I highly recommend going back to the beginning. I was moved to tears more than a few times. On that note: if newest_fad happens to be reading this, I don't mean to make your life some sort of freakshow by mentioning it here. I'm just deeply inspired and often moved by your journal. You possess a courage to write so candidly about your experiences; a courage that not many people (myself included) have. I admire your honesty and your ability to convey your thoughts and feelings to language. 'Nuff said.

Michigan is such a weird state. Take the radio for instance. I've travelled quite a bit and listened to a lot of radio stations across the country. Everyone has hometown heroes when it comes to music, but Michigan takes it to another whole level. You cannot listen to a "classic rock" station without hearing a Bob Seger or Ted Nugent song at least every hour. Ditto on the "modern rock" stations with the White Stripes and Eminem. I'm suspicious that there must be legislation that was enacted. Now if either would get wise and play more MC5 and the Stooges, well I could live with that.

Me and you can go toe to toe, no maybe. I'm knockin' niggaz out the box, daily. Yo weekly, monthly, yearly until the dumb motherfuckers see clearly that I'm down with the capital C-P-T. Boy you can't fuck with me. So when I'm in your neighborhood you betta duck. 'Cos Ice Cube is crazy as fuck As I leave, believe I'm stompin'. But when I come back, boy, I'm comin' straight outta Compton
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