Minutiae of Dumb Cunts
"You sound like you've had education."
I just finished explaining how the cognitive dissonance from feeding, clothing and housing my kid on the coffers given by the military industrial complex and having an ideology that matches a song like I Do Not Wish can turn an otherwise sound woman into Sybil
That afternoon was a haze of rushing around the island in search of ingredients to feed an entire fucking band of the vegan persuasion. Thinking my usual go-to of veggie lasagna would cut it, I got a frantic message on facespace from the mushmouthed hearing aid-addled mysoginist of Everett that "don't forget, Dave's a vegan". An hour and two trips to Safeway later, I had whole wheat pasta (no egg!), pounds of veggies, extra virgin olive oil, almond milk, non-dairy ice cream and 2 dozen from-scratch cupcakes with cream cheese frosting I made before the vegan declaration I was certain weren't going to get consumed, trying to chop this awful twat of a garlic clove without slicing the palm of my hand open to saute in preparation of feeding a horde of grown men.
I walked into the crash house right before the band showed up, labelled everything accordingly with tiny yellow sticky notes (vegan friendly! don't consume this if you do not eat eggs! almond milk in BACK of fridge!) and sat on the couch, exhausted already and I hadn't even made it to the Tavern yet to start taking cover. The guys came in, and were so grateful I ended up smothered in Dave hugs before I had a chance to tell him my name.
It was time to head to the Tav. The doors would be open in 20 minutes, the opening band would be loading gear in, and someone had to stamp hands and keep track of cash. Dave sat down in front of the television, queued up the on demand and started Boardwalk Empire.
"Hey, you don't mind sticking around so we can catch up on last night's episode, do you?"
Well uh, of course not! As long as Angela's got the door until I get there, I mean, yeah, there's enough room in the wagon I can fit you all in.
I hadn't seen more than 15 minutes of this show and even that was just to see Spaz de la Huerta's merkin, and here are 3/4 of one of the seminal hard core bands in the continental US, riveted by Nucci and I can't quit fucking STARING at them. I'm in my homie's living room with the guys who gave me the ammo to yell at my friends with McJobs CORPORATE DEATH BURGER! on their way inside to clock in. be cool, maintain... maaaaintaaaaaain...
They genuinely wanted to know what made my brain tick. The car ride to the Tav was filled with How I got here, what circumstances brought me to the island, brought me to our chapter of the worldwide club, how living this close to a military base with constant jet noise and low-flying machines could even be fucking tolerated, how old my daughter is, the vacuous midwest, my old man's service and veteran status, and everything in between.
Like having a conversation with your militant leftist hyper intelligent uncles
For a Monday, the turn out was spectacular. Bands played, hustled gear out, set up and tore down without incident, crowd hyped but not over agitated, state, county, and local police cruising the bar every 20 minutes or so
The show ended, and Ron and Dave were ready for a shower and sleep. The house we left was locked behind us after Boardwalk- I ended up taking Ron and Dave on base to my house for a shower, with the caveat that too much noise makes the little one wake up, so inside voices please? Called the husband before we came in the door- I have a couple guys in the band needing showers, is it ok if they come in pleasesetouttowelsandmakesurethetoiletlid'sdownokseeyouintenbye- and found amusement in his expression when the guys walked in, not looking like what husband had probably steeled himself up for seeing. Hand shakes were exchanged. Ron smiled at kiddo's art hung all over the walls- "You've got a little Picasso!"
At one point Butters the cat had come out of hiding under the couch and settled near freshly showered Dave while Ron de-gunked in hot water. I don't remember how war came up. It's hard not to think of it constantly in the middle of a military housing gulag, houses with white banners and one star in the window on every street. The air in the room went stale as soon as Dave said
"You know, I just don't fucking get it. What's the point of sending these men and women to Afghanistan, Iraq to come home uncared for and worse off? For what? What's the point of sacrificing these kids?"
Husband, the Iraq war vet, sucked in air. Those milliseconds before he responded felt like thunderous ticking hours. You could have heard a mouse piss on cotton as I hoped hospitality won out over hardheaded warhawk macho posturing I knew he was capable of
Husband nodded his head. "Well... Time can only tell what the purpose was and is."
JESUS CHRIST, WHERE'D THAT CAT GO? WANT A TREAT, BUDDY? HERE KITTY KITTY
I had the guys hang their towels over the shower curtain bar, and drove them back to the crash house. It was 2 AM; my feet were barking after a night upright in the seashore air. I saw them load up on second or third helpings of the noshes (yessssss, I am kitchen proficient, I am all that is domestication). I hugged Dave and Ron, high fived Mike and gave Jesse one last squeeze before getting back in the wagon and back home. I'd get my dishes and leftovers tomorrow.
I fell into bed with an audible sigh. I'd already started drafting the apology I'd give my daughter later in life for depriving her of meeting the guys on the record she's heard in the house and in Momma's car- the one with the chicken sqwuaks she loved to sing along with so much.
