Shooting Range Warning Signs
10/17 9:53 AM F
10-19 5:41 PM Su
I'm sitting in the chair we call the Kirk chair because it's like the captain's chair on some futuristic Star Trek Enterprise with its superior vantage point and remote control capabilities for the fount of life: TV.
Yeah. I didn't write here yesterday. Thing and I drove up to Lancaster with the top down on the convertible. It was sunny but chilly. I felt impervious even in my short sleeves. We had thermoses of coffee. We listened to Soundgarden and Van Halen. We stopped at a Denny's off the Antelope Freeway. Driving through Lancaster on the way to see Chuck Yeager break the sound barrier above Edwards Air Force Base, I asked Thing, "If we got pulled over for speeding, do you think the cop would let us go if we told him we were trying to break the sound barrier?" We had the opposite problem, though. We sat in grueling traffic. Everyone and their grandma was trying get down the long narrow road to the checkpoint onto the base. I looked at the big blue sky and said, "Do they call it an air show because of all this air?" It took us about an hour and half to drive two hours because the traffic was so bad. We pulled of the road within sight of the base entrance and thought we might just park there and walk in. We trudged toward the gate past the SHOOTING RANGE warning signs, by one of which I stopped to piss. At the gate, I asked the guard how much farther it was to the air show. "About seven or eight miles," he said. We decided to shitcan the whole idea. I called Kronos, whom we were supposed to be meeting at the air show, to see if he'd left yet. No one answered. It was going to be another Zurn flakeout. Thing and I went to a bar and drank bloody marys and read the paper which was all I really wanted to do anyway. After a couple hours, I tried Kronos again, but there was still no answer. Lancaster seemed kind of lame, and I really just wanted to get back to LA.
Once we got back home, Carlin came up to see if we'd help Glorious move. Neither of us wanted to, especially after their idiotic, victim-coveting, self-sorry, white-man bash at the Bounty the night before, but we did. "Mighty white of us," I said, and Carlin groaned. We sat in more traffic all the way the fuck down to Santa Ana or Tustin or wheverever the hell it was that Glorious was moving. Biyatch wasn't there. We went to see my mom. My step-sister and her daughter were there. I was tired and had no personality. We called Glorious again, and now she was home. We loaded a roll-top desk and a television and some other crap into the back of Thing's truck, and then waited around a couple hours while the poor girl tried to get her shit together. She was leaving her boyfriend. Then we drove her stuff over to her new pad in Santa Ana.
10-19 5:41 PM Su
I'm sitting in the chair we call the Kirk chair because it's like the captain's chair on some futuristic Star Trek Enterprise with its superior vantage point and remote control capabilities for the fount of life: TV.
Yeah. I didn't write here yesterday. Thing and I drove up to Lancaster with the top down on the convertible. It was sunny but chilly. I felt impervious even in my short sleeves. We had thermoses of coffee. We listened to Soundgarden and Van Halen. We stopped at a Denny's off the Antelope Freeway. Driving through Lancaster on the way to see Chuck Yeager break the sound barrier above Edwards Air Force Base, I asked Thing, "If we got pulled over for speeding, do you think the cop would let us go if we told him we were trying to break the sound barrier?" We had the opposite problem, though. We sat in grueling traffic. Everyone and their grandma was trying get down the long narrow road to the checkpoint onto the base. I looked at the big blue sky and said, "Do they call it an air show because of all this air?" It took us about an hour and half to drive two hours because the traffic was so bad. We pulled of the road within sight of the base entrance and thought we might just park there and walk in. We trudged toward the gate past the SHOOTING RANGE warning signs, by one of which I stopped to piss. At the gate, I asked the guard how much farther it was to the air show. "About seven or eight miles," he said. We decided to shitcan the whole idea. I called Kronos, whom we were supposed to be meeting at the air show, to see if he'd left yet. No one answered. It was going to be another Zurn flakeout. Thing and I went to a bar and drank bloody marys and read the paper which was all I really wanted to do anyway. After a couple hours, I tried Kronos again, but there was still no answer. Lancaster seemed kind of lame, and I really just wanted to get back to LA.
Once we got back home, Carlin came up to see if we'd help Glorious move. Neither of us wanted to, especially after their idiotic, victim-coveting, self-sorry, white-man bash at the Bounty the night before, but we did. "Mighty white of us," I said, and Carlin groaned. We sat in more traffic all the way the fuck down to Santa Ana or Tustin or wheverever the hell it was that Glorious was moving. Biyatch wasn't there. We went to see my mom. My step-sister and her daughter were there. I was tired and had no personality. We called Glorious again, and now she was home. We loaded a roll-top desk and a television and some other crap into the back of Thing's truck, and then waited around a couple hours while the poor girl tried to get her shit together. She was leaving her boyfriend. Then we drove her stuff over to her new pad in Santa Ana.
posted by johnz at 2:53 PM
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