I was talking today with my work-mate about temporary storage space ("You
Store It, You Lock It, You Keep The Key!") - he's a rocker off-the-job,
and he said his band back in New Jersey used one for practice! I'd heard
of people setting up "boiler-room" offices in them (just desks and phones)
but this seemed excessive - he said there were five other bands doing the
same thing there! Plus, in the unit next to theirs a family was living,
in the area around their car. This wouldn't've been possible in the one I
had for a month in Virginia - the controls were too strict. T hates these
places, just because he has one full of all his and his wife's extra
gear - he thinks they'd get rid of that stuff if they didn't have this
easy storage alternative.
I was thinking about that glorious October day in 1972 when I hitch-hiked
down to North Carolina. C drove me around to the bottom of the Beltway in
his Falcon with U, where they let me out in the morning sunshine - I was
going to visit my brother H at the small college he was attending down
there. Arlo Guthrie's "City Of New Orleans" was still on the charts then,
and it was my theme music for the trip - I sang the song, thumb
outstretched, walking backwards along the shoulder of I-95:
"Good Morning, America, how are you?A New York City cop and his family picked me up & took me most of the way. His wife slid into the middle and I sat next to the window, at times with some trepidation. He did all the talking, railing against acid rock and such-like, while fiddling with the radio, occaissionaly hollering at his cringing children in the back seat. Actually the ride wasn't as bad as it sounds - at least, I arrived intact! That evening, H and some of his school chums took me to "Zabriske Point" at a midnight show. The next day I was out on the freeway again, this time to catch a pre-arranged ride: L had received a van (which we called "de truck") from his Dad, and he was heading home from another small North Carolinian college - for various parental reasons his first year of college was there in the mountains at the extreme west of that state.
Don't you know me, I'm your native son"
This cold I have has me down. Yesterday I left work after less than an
hour to come home to bed; today I went in for the whole day but still feel
lousy. But while there I was inspired to write up this
addendum to my
Profile page. On the way home I stopped at that
loathsome temple to American consumerism: Wal-Mart. I've been looking around
for some cheap flip-flops <1>
and I just haven't been able to locate them anywhere - here, in this tacky
emporium, for sure I thought - no such luck. I walked up and down aisles
heaped to overflowing with luridly-tinted plastic rubbish, crowded with
fat & ugly people, the air filled with the sounds of babies wailing and
Spanish or accented English - true Hell. If you ever hear of a fertilizer
bomb detonation outside a Wal-Mart, I could be the prime
suspect <2>. Across
the street, more of the same ambience at Target, but they had
acceptable plastic sandals for $2.75.