Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Trip, pt. 2

Well, my mom's left the door open for me, so here we go. Next part.

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We left about 1 o’clock or so from Bismarck. All I did on the way to Fargo was read the book I was reading, Depraved. I was pretty quiet.

It takes about 2 hours or so to get to Fargo. In that time, I pretty much finished Depraved. When we finally got to the hotel-it was a Super 8 hotel, one of those-we brought in our stuff. My Grandparents got their own room, and so did my parents.

I stayed in the room my Grandparents had. Having been around my parents so many times (throughout my entire dismal life), I wouldn’t have it that I would stay with them.

The room was nice. It had two TVs in it, two beds in this one little room, then a couch in another little room-then the bathroom, and that was about it. All I did while we whiled away the time was continue to read my book Well, actually, at first I called my parents’ room, randomly. It rang for a long while, then my mom finally picked it up. I said something into the receiver, but she just hung right up on me. No respect at all. I thought that was pretty mean of her.

Pretty soon though, we left. First I went to Media Play, then we went to eat at Olive Garden.

It’s funny. In Bismarck, we don’t have an Olive Garden. Instead of nice restaurants and all the things Fargo has, we have banks. Which makes sense, I guess.

I remember on the way to Fargo I’d mention a few times that Americans worship money. This wasn’t the first time I said it-I had said it to my Grandparents before.

Where I got the idea from was one night, at my house, when I was upstairs late watching TV, and I switched on HBO and there was this Chris Rock special on. Stand-up comedy, which is good stuff. Well, Chris Rock was going all over the place, saying how the whites rule the world, and that there’s a difference between being rich and being wealthy. Then he mentioned Americans worship money. I’m not sure if he really said it like I later did, because I took it a whole step further.

In America, most people are Christian. Being the sarcastic man I am, I went to go and say that money is the only real god. When I went up to my Grandparents’ once, I came up to them, and said, “I found god,” and they sort of gave me this serious stare. Then I said, “He’s money.”

During the time I was staying those three days at my Grandparents’, there was Ronald Reagan’s funeral going on on so many channels it wasn’t even funny. It was so bad that I changed from one channel only to see the same thing on the next. There was serious media coverage of his death, which I guess is fine, but I don’t see the point. The guy’s dead. Big deal.

I went to say in the car as we were going to Fargo, in a stroke of genius out of thin air (which happens to me often), that when I die I don’t want to have my funeral services at a church. I’d rather have them at a bank, since money is my god, unfortunately and sadly. At least I know where my god’s at, unlike most other people. I’m not saying religion is bad, though-don’t get me wrong there-I’m just saying I have no use for that habahlaha.

I mean, it’s funny. The bible’s the best-selling novel ever written. I only wish I could write something like that, that’s universally known and read over and over all over the world. Those people who take bible stories as true, I don’t know about them-they’re kind of sad, really. The bible’s stories are good and all, and allegorical, and enlightening-but really, most of it isn’t true, or what is true is so over done in this insane way. How can that be true at all? Can’t. There just isn’t any way.

So, in god we trust.

I’m also thinking when I die that I’d like to burn my money. There’s something beautiful about it, burning money. It’s sort of like being a rebel, burning money. And I like rebels. But say I win a million dollars or something-maybe on that Millionaire show, with Regis and all (who doesn’t even do that show anymore from what I remember, but anyway). Imagine Reg, his hair all beautiful, and that face of his, and me, sitting in the hot seat. Reg leans on over, asks me, “So what’re you gonna do if you win the million dollars?” I’d tell him right in the face that I’ll be burning it. I wonder what that would do. I’m pretty sure someone in the audience would give this remorseful wail, sounding like something broken, and exclaim, “You can’t do that! Gimme the money!” Or maybe Reg himself would get all peevish about it-wondering what in high hell was my problem. And being me and all, I’d just sit there and smile, sort of leer and smirk. It’d be great.

Money comes from trees. Too bad you can’t get it from there, since you have to mint it, give it its ink. Really’s too bad. But what in the hell can you do? I see you mouthing the word nothing-that’s damn right.

When I die, I want immense media coverage like Mr. Reagan as well. That’d be great. It’ll happen, too, you just wait. I’m going to be some famous author-people tell me it all the time. We’ll see.

So, back to the story I guess. I can see you’re anticipating it to go on-and reach some climax. I can handle it.

Before going to Olive Garden, my Grandpa dropped me on off at Media Play. We don’t have a Media Play in Bismarck, either. Like I said, we just have banks.

The reason I went there was because I had $50. My mom had given it to me, put it in my checking account I had still from my failed job at KFC I’m sure you’ve heard of (if you haven’t, the gist of it is that I worked there for about four weeks, then I was suddenly fired, to keep it short). Anyway, I didn’t know why my mom had given me that $50, but I went ahead and took it out of there before we left Bismarck. I felt like spending it finally, getting some new music up at Fargo or something.

And that’s just what I did. I got myself some new music.

There were lots of nice-looking women up at Media Play too. “Eye candy” as I sometimes call it if I feel like it. It’s just nice to have some diversion.

I was up there at Media Play for a while. First I looked over the games, thought maybe I’d want to get a game if there was one I wanted. They didn’t have anything, other than XIII, which the one who’s called PoisonTongue, or Alex Esten, or AnimeGurl, or Bean recommended in his My O. It sounded like a good game, and it was cheap. I thought maybe I’d buy that, but probably not, because I wanted music or something more.

I looked at the books for a while then. I wanted to get this book Diary by that guy who wrote Fight Club, and I wanted to get Fight Club too if I could, but they were too expensive for my tastes-they didn’t have either in paperback. Just hardcover was all. So that was off, sadly.

There was this and that that I looked at in books too, but not anything that really caught my eye. So I went on over to the music.

I checked to see if they had Scarling. No, they didn’t. I checked to see if they had Oceansize, since I’d gotten a taste of them from Tony’s (Semjaza’s) 150 best bands list he was doing. They didn’t have any of that either. I looked at what they had of Jack Off Jill. Nothing I wanted there, since I had already gotten Clear Hearts Grey Flowers last time. I looked for other bands I wanted to hear-looked at what they had of The Cure (which wasn’t much), and so on. I spent most of my time over there.

In the end, I decided I would get The Moon & Antarctica (Revised) by Modest Mouse, since I had liked what I heard at Tony’s site and that I would also get Aenima by Tool, since I really like that song “Aenema” and since I’ve really liked Tool for a long time.

By the time that was all said and done, and I had these two CDs in my hands, my Grandpa was in the store to pick me up, since he’d left me alone and gone off to do whatever it was he was going to do (I think he was going to fill up on gas). Since it was time to go, I went on over, but then I had an idea. Right then in my head I remembered I’d always wanted to read J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, and that it was cheap enough and I had enough money to buy it (since, as I added in my mind, these two CDs only cost 30-something dollars). I went on over, then, and picked that book up quick.

As I did some more last minute browsing over by the books, I decided there wasn’t anything else I wanted here. But as I was walking away, over a bit from the books, I saw Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle and on a whim decided to get that, too. I had always wanted to read that book as well, ever since it was mentioned in History.

Over where I saw The Jungle I also saw that Invisible Man book that I’d heard of in History too, and that my fellow My Oer Shinmaru had said was good. But I didn’t have enough of my god to get it, which was tough luck I guess.

I paid for my stuff, then we went on back to the hotel. I dropped my stuff off, and since my parents were gone, continued reading my Depraved book. A while after, my parents came from the mall where they’d went (Fargo actually has a crappy mall, too. It’s all these clothing stores, and there isn’t even a CD store, and only one video game store. I attest that I hate that mall, and that it sucks. Don’t ever go there if you’re ever in Fargo. Instead, come to Bismarck and see me. Trust me, I’m better than some godawful mall). My mom had gotten me some new shirts-two, in fact. When she showed me that first shirt, it was like love at first sight.

The shirt was this white shirt, and across at the upper part it said UNEMPLOYED. I gave a sly smile when I first read it-it was great. I’ve always loved cool little shirts like that. And it suits my type of humor perfectly, and what’s even better is that some people are just baffled by my sense of humor. So it all works out. In my favor, of course.

My mom said to my dad when she gave it to me, “Maybe this will give him the clue.” The clue being, of course, that I need a job. .

So I put on that shirt, then. And then it was time to go and eat at the Olive Garden. I walked in, we got set up-party of seven. Hey, I’ve always wondered: why do you have to say “party” when each of you that are going to get seated in the restaurant aren’t a party anyway, but just people who are eating together. I guess a party is a group of people, but whatever. I’d rather just say, “We have five people that’re going to be sitting here and eating this day,” instead of saying, “We have a party of five.” Ah well, what can you do? Yeah, that’s right, nothing again. Damn messed up world.

There were only six people in all. The seventh one was one of my Grandpa’s sons, Courtney. When I first heard this guy’s name, I thought he was a gal, too. But my grandma explained that she was expecting a girl, so they stuck with the name.

Courtney’s a good guy. Kind of a little silent and reserved, but he’s a cool cat. He’s a little overweight, has balding hair, looks older than he is, but he’s good. He works at Wal-mart there in Fargo, and sometimes he performs. You see, he’s a magician-does all those fancy dancy tricks that there’s no magic to at all, but just sly cunning.

So we had to wait a while to sit down-Olive Garden’s always busy, so you’ve got to wait. I was fine. All I did was read more of my Depraved book, and checked out some of the women around me, as I’m prone to do. When there’s nothing else to do, that’s just what you do, I guess.

When we finally got seated, as we were walking over, I remember old Court asked me what I was reading, and so I showed him. All he said was “oh,” and then we sat down.

I checked out the people sitting beside us, beside my “party of seven.” Right across from me was this nice-looking woman-she had especially nice legs. Nice legs are really my soft spot, I think. Especially if a woman’s wearing a skirt-then it’s even more soft. Skirts are one of the most sexy things a woman can wear ever, especially when they’re not too long and not too short.

She had a nice face, too. I remember thinking about how I liked how her cheeks sort of made a semi-circle, and caught the light and that nice glimmer. I like that. The thing was, she had a kid beside her, as well as some other girl-probably her friend. When I see beautiful women with kids, that just ruins it. At this point in my life, I don’t want a kid. I never want one. I think if I had a kid, I’d shoot myself and maybe jump off of some cliff while I was at it. But anyway.

The waiter came on over and asked us what we wanted to drink. She came with this sample of wine. I wouldn’t have had any, even if I was of age to have it. You see, that’s why they give you just a sample, just a little taste-so you get hooked on it and drink more and more till you’re loaded like hell, and rack up some enormous bill. Also, there’s the fact that I’d definitely become an alcoholic if I drank. So that, coupled with a moral sense about it too (which is rare for me), and having seen my mom drunk, and others drunk (my mom’s gotten a DUI before, actually. She still hasn’t learned her lesson), makes me never want to touch the stuff, let alone have that sample. No one else at the table took a sample, either. I just got a Diet Coke.

I really like Caffeine. It’s a softcore version of alcohol, although opposite in how it hits you (alcohol is a depressant of the central nervous system; caffeine is a stimulant of the central nervous system). I live by caffeine, I really do. Although I’ve been trying to drink pop less (I only drink it when I go out somewhere, a restaurant or something), I still feel a craving for Caffeine every so often still. The stuff really is addicting, despite what someone else might say. But caffeine really clears my head. It’s just a nice old friend I suppose in some regards.

Caffeine is one of those things that makes me happy. Which is fine for me. It’s still a contrived happiness.

I got my diet coke, and there was some chit chatting going on. I was mostly quiet, as I downed my Diet Coke and waited for the onset of the good feeling I get from Caffeine. I also looked over the menu. I had no clue what I was going to get.

I’ve never liked Italian food too much. Most of it’s just pasta. Well, at least what they have at Olive Garden anyway. I had no clue what to get. My Grandpa said he was going to get whatever I got.

I ended up deciding on getting one of the things with chicken breasts in it. I chose some one my dad told me to get, and that was that. The waiter came, took our orders, I got what I was going to get. She asked us if we were going to get salad or soup, we all said salad, of course.

Olive Garden has amazing salad. They bring it to you as an appetizer, in this big clear bowl, with breadsticks too. Those breadsticks are amazing, too. Those breadsticks and the salad is one of the main reasons I love Olive Garden.

I had a large portion of salad, and a bunch of breadsticks. I was starving. The last thing I’d eaten the entire day was that breakfast at Hardee’s-and that had been eons ago. Hours and hours ago.

I don’t know, I don’t really get hungry much anymore. Lately, I try to eat three good meals, but sometimes it doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen especially if I’m going to be going to some nice restaurant which I rarely get to go to (i.e, Olive Garden). Other times I’m just not hungry and don’t eat anything.

Lately I’ve been eating salads and fruits and vegetables, and things with nutrients in it. So that works for me. I’m glad to be eating healthy. Plus I go on my walks, as I mentioned before. I’m starting to see results on my body, too.

But, back to the story.

Eventually our meals came. Mine turned out being different than I thought it was. I actually didn’t like it too much, but I ate it anyway. It had mushrooms and other crap in it, all around the chicken, and then some noodles on the side to eat. It wasn’t too good at all, in comparison to other things I’d eaten there.

I had another stroke of genius when I was eating. I started thinking of why they call them mushrooms. Then it was rooms of mush that came to my mind. Because that’s really what mushrooms are, rooms of mush. It made perfect sense then and it does now. And it was another moment of genius, which I’m always glad to have, since it makes me feel like my mind itself isn’t just mush, but rather something much more.

We finished eating, we left. We went back to the hotel and it was decided that I would have to stay there with my brother, alone, while the “adults” went out and did who the hell knows what. I resigned to my fate, and I was forced to go swimming with my brother.

The swimming was pretty boring. At first, all I did was just sit in the hot tub, relaxing. But it made me tired, so I got out and went in the real pool with my brother. We swam around in there for a while, not doing much, and then I had finally had enough. I left. He followed with me.

Back in the room, I took a nice shower. I’ve always loved taking showers, and so this was my second that day, and it was nice.

When I was done with my shower, I sat down and started reading the rest of Depraved in my parents’ room, since I was forced over there to watch my brother till all them came back.

I finished Depraved during that time. I just read it in the other part of the hotel room, away from my brother, since my brother is really crazy sometimes, all hyper and such, and was that night. When I was done with Depraved, I started reading The Catcher in the Rye. From the get-go, I loved this book.

Holden is so much like me, I found out. J.D. Salinger is definitely a genius, too. I’m sure if you look up Genius in the dictionary, his name’s not there, but I’d write it in there anyway, because it should be in there beside Genius.

I love how the book’s written. The thing was that I felt I could’ve wrote a book like this, too. It kind of got my hopes up with writing-got me back into the feel of it, and where I stand. I mean, Rye’s considered a classic, I suppose, and is well-known. If I felt I could write something like that, then maybe sometime I’ll write a classic too. That is if I can even muster enough effort to write a novel first.

But really, this book’s just a whole bunch of going on and on about what happened here, there, then some tangent here, some digression here. That’s the book. It’s genius, really. Who cares about story, as long as there’s a little there, and it’s entertaining, and that’s what this book does.

Some of this book made me snicker (close to a laugh, but better), too. It has my type of humor in it.

So there I was and I started reading that book. I kept coming over into my brother’s room and just saying how great this book is. And so, I continued my reading fest and read and read, till my parents came back.

When they came back, I went to my Grandparents’ room, and settled on in. I took out the couch to make it a bed, since it was one of those couches. My Grandpa himself was going to sleep on a rollaway bed he’d gotten. I remember he’d called for it sometime when we’d first arrived, and the lady had asked him “Why do you want a rollaway?” and my Grandpa had just laughed. If I would’ve been on the phone, I would’ve said, “Sex.” But I wasn’t so I didn’t say it.

What I did in the bed was read more of Rye. The book was great, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

When I was finally done, I was on about page 50 or so, pretty good for how short I’d been reading it. Then I decided to call it a night. But before all that happened, my brother and dad came in the room.

My mom was at it again: drunk and ranting and raving and being altogether impossible to be around. So they came in and just sat it out. My brother, being the annoying beautiful little guy he is, came in and laid himself down on my bed with me. I eventually got him off, though.

My mom never came in the room (thank god), and eventually they left and went back to the room. I think my mom was threatening to sleep in the car or something, but I don’t know if that ever happened. I didn’t care. I’d had enough of her being drunk and being around me and all. I wasn’t going to worry about it.

So I just set myself down there, closed my eyes, and slept. I wonder if I dreamed anything. I guess I’ll never know.
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