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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").
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Carter's Mountain in daylight Sunday, June 29 1997 Our atmosphere: a thin blue line holding space above the ground.
t was the usual Sunday morning scene featuring me, Matthew and Leah. The major difference was that we didn't immediately launch into alcohol. The other two had to work today, you see. Matthew is full of amusing stories about local cultural entities. This fact no doubt lies behind my unusual fondness for the boy. Today he told me about the job of a ladder runner at the C&O. The ladder runner is the guy who makes sure that food and information from the somewhat unsavoury kitchen in the basement reaches the waitresses in the snazzy five star French restaurant on the first floor. The physical connection between the waitress station in the restaurant and the kitchen below is a narrow treacherous ladder. Making sure that a butter-baked duck, faceless wine-boiled crab or sesame noodle salad finds its way up the ladder unscathed is not for the faint of heart. Accidents are always just a miscalculation away. Furthermore, the cooks have to know how a patron wants his food prepared and the waitresses upstairs have to be given detailed instructions on how food is to be served. The task requires communication skills, dexterity, memory and a certain amount of will power.
Speaking of weird, one night recently, Theresa slept in bed with Leah and Matthew. At some point Leah and Matthew began having sex with each other (it's their bed, they reason, and sleeping with them carries certain risks). They thought Theresa was asleep, but later she admitted to them that she'd been turned on by their behaviour and had been forced to masturbate.
atthew wanted to go out for breakfast, but I didn't want to eat breakfast food. So we decided to go get Chinese food. Matthew called around to the various places to track down a vegetarian buffet. Most people working at Chinese food establishments have no understanding of the American vegetarian. I think the Chinese wonder in amazement why anyone would deliberately want to forego meat. And even a vegetarian should gladly eat chicken! We went to Chiang House Restaurant, which is housed in a big neon-blue faux-oriental building on 29 North. It features Chinese food and sushi.
Since they'd been eating sushi, Matthew and Leah didn't have the grease and MSG intoxication from which I suffered. Somehow I was able to drive. We went to a K-mart. I was looking for materials with which to do auto body repairs on my Dart. Matthew was looking for a fly fishing rod. Leah was looking for some kind of super-adhesive (always a good thing for the girl who wants to break things more than once). Speaking of Leah's breaking things, the knee she hit with a wine bottle over a week ago was acting up again. None of us found any of the things we were looking for. Matthew was wearing spiked bracelets, and in frustration he slashed boxes with them as he walked down the aisles. On the way back home, we stopped in at a couple UVA buildings and stole toilet paper from the rest rooms. Some janitor in Olssen Hall forgot to lock down the gigantic wagon-wheel-sized rolls in the men's room. Now we have enough toilet paper for the duration of our lease. Meanwhile, there must be some stinky behinds in the Electrical Engineering Department. As if those geeks don't have enough social problems.
ack at Kappa Mutha Fucka, Aquarius Central, we were joined by Deya. A spur of the moment idea organically evolved into a drive to see Peggy and Zach at their new place high on Carter's Mountain. We knew only that their new place was somewhere near the top of the mountain, and off we went, Matthew driving as he usually does when sober: manic, with a casual attitude towards the value of a long life. I had a jug of vino, which slowly had its impact on me. I shared a little with Leah. Maybe Deya had some.
I've long known about the meadow on Carter's Mountain. After all, you can see it from Charlottesville. I'd thought it was just a sheep meadow. But actually, it's a massive apple orchard. Some of the trees are old and spaced well apart, while others are small and grow like rows of corn. Today much of the operation smelled like vomit; apparently poultry excreta was being used as fertilizer. On the south end of the meadow is a massive installation of radio and microwave equipment. Eventually we found a secluded little community of houses a short ways down the east slope from the summit. In front of the largest was the battered and dented red Toyota Racecar that has been Peggy and Zach's fairly reliable mode of transportation for about a year now. Soon too we found Zach and he showed us the new place. It's a tidy little basement apartment in the big house. The floor is made of stones set in a matrix of concrete. I have no idea where Peggy and Zach raised the money to secure the place. And I wonder what fraction of the rent pays for the view. Meanwhile Peggy was off exploring some nearby abandoned houses with some older woman from an upstairs apartment.
So down the mountain we drove, then around the downtown congestion via the 250 bypass to 29 North. As he drove, Matthew became increasingly reckless. I usually prefer riding with him when he's had a lot to drink. The kicker was when he ran a red light on 29 North, one of the most congested highways in North America. He simply looked both ways and went on through. There's something about my upbringing that makes it nearly impossible for me to do such things.
eya and I listened to an old vinyl record from my childhood on the newly installed record player in the Kappa Mutha Fucka living room. It was the tale of Heidi, as told by Walt Disney, Inc. I probably hadn't listened to it since I was eleven. It was all strangely forgotten. I couldn't recall any of the music at all. Only snatches of the narration were familiar, as was the overall theme.
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