the Musings of the Gus home | musings index | feedback | other journals
May 1998 index
previous | next                 page bottom

May 13 1998, Wednesday



  spent the night in the Shaque because I had plans to do more things on this side of the Blue Ridge.

I was going to take my Dodge Dart to Rosen's Garage in the small rustic hamlet of Middlebrook to get it inspected. The place has a reputation for being an easy place to pass. But when I called up to arrange an appointment, I said only that I wanted to get my car inspected, and the guy hung up on me. Well, one time of being hung up upon doesn't mean anything, so I called back and again, when I mentioned inspection, the guy hung up! Perhaps my non-local accent made the guy think I was a DMV auditor from Richmond trying to catch them passing unsafe cars or something, I don't know. It was very mysterious. So it looks like my car will remain uninspected. Oh well, it's pretty easy to drive around even with the rejection sticker. It's difficult to tell from a distance when exactly the 15-day grace period of a rejection sticker actually expires.

My mother cooked me up a big lunch of fried chicken and I loaded my car with yet more junk electronics with which to decorate the world. I'm thinking about tossing out floppy drives casually in a residential neighborhood, hoping children will find them and be inspired by them. I know that when I was a kid, something like a floppy drive would have been a rare and beautiful treasure. If I'd found one at the age of seven (it would have had to have been an eight inch drive of course), chances are I'd only just be throwing it out now, some 23 years later!

a few pictures I took today

My Dodge Dart parked in front of my childhood home. Note the double roof on the house, an essential repair my father and I made in the late 80s.

My Shaque, viewed from the west. Note the accumulation of junk under the overhang. If you look carefully, you can see a VIC-20 keyboard in the cardboard box.

Here you can see my parents' barn (far right) and chicken coop, as well as my mother's Subaru (foreground). Most of the larger trees visible are native Chinquapin Oaks (Quercus muhlenbergii), which thrive on the abundant limestone comprising small hills in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley.


ack at Kappa Mutha Fucka, it was the usual social congestion: Peggy, Zach and the Baboose with Johnny Boom Boom and Morgan Anarchy, the latter unable to remember much of his recent trip to New York City. Zach left, Joanna Road Rage picked up Peggy, and Kirstin the Ecoradical arrived.

Everyone was hanging out on the porch so they could enjoy their cigarettes contaminating the fresh spring air. Not willing to be left out, Jessika came out to join them with Wilbur the Cockatiel perched on her shoulder. I asked if that was such a good idea. With his new wing feathers, he can fly like any other bird you see in the wild. I went upstairs to computerize my brain and drink a beer. When I came down, everyone was gone except Johhny and Kirstin and they were glum. Wilbur the Cockatiel had flown away. Very far away. No one really knew where he was. Morgan and Jessika were out looking for him. The story is that Johnny had compulsively snapped a bicycle inner tube, and Wilbur had panicked and flown.

It's two hours later, darkness is descending, and still no Wilbur. We can't hear him and we can't see him. Ray Robot is here trying to amplify our usual whistles and such in hopes that Wilbur will hear them from afar, but it seems like a hopeless cause. I have my doubts we'll ever have him in the house again. He might be enjoying his freedom now, but he's not exactly cut out for the wild life. He has no fear of anything, and I don't think he knows how to find food on his own. What's more, I don't know if he can even find his way home. Cockatiels aren't like dogs, and besides, he's unfamiliar with the environment outdoors. Deya had been loath to cut Wilbur's wings once they'd grown back in, and now he's paying her back for her consideration. I feel a little guilty myself for not being more forceful with my opinion that Jessika shouldn't bring him outside. Anyway, I guess it's just another little tragedy here at Kappa Mutha Fucka.


essika recorded a bunch of trademark Wilbur the Cockatiel whistles and played them with great amplification out the window to attract the little guy. Deya had seen him high in the top of a nearby tree. But it was growing dark and I told them it was a hopeless cause until early morning.

Cecelia the Brazilian Girl showed up with a cage that needed to be fitted with mesh in order to contain her children (the rats Deya had been tending). Ray Robot, looking much like a New Jersey working stiff in his wife beater, was trying to find ways to cut a roll of mesh with whatever tools he could find in my house. In typical Ray Robot form, he fired up my Black and Decker saw (whose last task was to install clefts in my fingers) and tried to cut the mesh that way. But of course it was a completely inappropriate tool. I was momentarily irate when I came down the stairs and saw everyone standing around staring stupidly at my saw and Ray in the aftermath of an unsuccessful wire-cutting attempt. The saw and Ray were undamaged, but I gave Ray a piece of my mind anyway.

In the evening, Natural Leslie came over with her sister and some unknown guy. A bunch of people ended up hanging out on the porch smoking pot while others mingled on the edge of the street. Wacky Jen invited us (Jessika, Deya and me) over to her house for Mint Juleps, but we were depressed about Wilbur's escape and we couldn't just leave our house with all these people hanging out, and we couldn't bring them all with us, either.


one year ago
back to the top
previous | next