I went for a drive yesterday, south on 5, in early afternoon. The hill on my right blocked the sun, and the fields to my left were bright, the roadside trees dappled with unseasonable sun. So begins the Vermont spring. Had some trouble keeping my eyes on the road.
Tommy blasts. "Sparks" and the beautiful day whooshing by are too much: I have to feel the air, and I roll the window down.
With the rolled-down window comes a cigarette: in my fit of rage, I snagged them just before I left, and as I lit the first on that beautiful day, sharing the moment with the late John Entwhistle, I knew, with little regret, that I would always be a smoker.
Stopped at a Cumby's in Bellows Falls for more smokes and a root beer. As I drove away, I became curious about the time, and began scanning the buildings for a clock. What if I just kept going? How long could I last?
Heading out of town, the road became shitty, the pavement wracked by frost heaves, melt draining from field to field. Desolate fences marked odd lots with trailers, broken cars, rusted farm equipment. Up a hill, round a corner...and suddenly the forest to my left drops off, and an astonishing view of the mountains beckons. My neck twists to see, and I look for a place to pull over, even a wide shoulder...but there is nothing, and then the view is gone.
I ponder the reasons for my dissatisfactions, my aggravations. Why can't I finish anything I start? Why do my accomplishments sap my confidence? Have I known the essential futility of life since my youngest days, trying and failing to express what I didn't fully understand? And why must I dwell on it? Maybe that's the whole problem. I think in circles and don't come up with anything...and on I drive.
I near a bridge and slow down, picturing a black spring river far below, slicing through the last of the ice, coming alive. My gaze is drawn down, down...to an 18-wheeler on the Interstate. And that seems to say something to me, but I'm not sure what, and on I drive, no longer seeing or listening or thinking about anything except the disappointment of seeing an Interstate where I expected a river.
By the time I snap out of it, Tommy's about to become aware, and I've hit Putney. Seems like a good time to take the Interstate back north. There's a big Do Not Enter sign on the road that leads to the on-ramp. How can this be? Too late, at 60 mph, I see the second road. Turn around, drive back. Get on 91N. Luck out at speed trap.
The sun is out in full force now: no trees between, and it's almost too much for me.
Bimbo Leaves 43-Year Relationship for Australian Boogie Boarder.
Buy our shoes! If the Wright brothers had worn our shoes, they would've built space shuttles!
If you give your family OUR orange juice, they'll love you! But if you give them that OTHER orange juice, they'll take crack and murder you in your sleep!
This car comes with power windows and this model's knockers! Buy it or you'll be a big loser with no hot model's knockers in your car!
Enzyte will expand your dong AND improve your golf game! And you'll get a raise!
Microsoft: Your potential inspires us to...ah, we don't give a shit about you.
So a little while back, Elevator Cops, Seastar NT, and alcohol joined forces to create a strange, impromptu cover of two songs at once: Feel Like Makin' Love, and Runnin With the Devil. Fortunately, it was caught on video, digitized, and burned onto CD. We called it (what else?) Feel Like Makin' Love With The Devil. Yes, it's a funny song, not available in stores. Ask nicely and maybe we'll let you hear it!
Now, I don't really know how Windows Media Player matches the audio files it sees to the database it retrieves information from. But somehow WMP guessed that our unknown Feel Like Makin' Love With The Devil was a Ray Boltz tune called Great is the Lord. I hope you find that as funny as I do. :)
Routeword. More fun than you're having right now, unless there's a head in your lap.