The Haymaker Memoirs (Part I)
By now, most of you are probably chomping at your straightjackets wondering what has been keeping the latest mindless rambling of a blog post from your pseudo-friendly, neighborhood, wackjob Internet author– right?
My apologies, of course, but it was simply time for the Crazytigerrabbitman to step away temporarily from his idiot box and once again pack up all his shit and head off on another cross-country adventure, this time to the beautiful Commonwealth of Virginia, in order to indulge in some impromptu weekend camping, bluegrass, and red mud - lots and lots of red fucking mud – at the annual Haymaker Music Festival in Spotsylvania.
What follows below are taken from my usual comprised journal entries from the four-day car journey as well as the festival itself. As with the travelogues from my prior trips by train and by plane, this particular trip, this time by automobile, is presented in random chronological order and attempts to follow absolutely no logical chain of thought whatsoever. In fact, much of it was conceived under the influence of either large quantities of alcohol, pre-made Teriyaki chicken from festival vendors, or in between joint sessions back at the campsite while hiding out from undercover police officers and sniffing dogs.
Hopefully, some of these random vacation scribblings will be of either interest, or at the very least intelligible.
May 19th; St. Catharines, Ont (11:00AM)
I am successfully packed up and I am beginning to become anxious to begin the first leg of my weekend’s journey – unfortunately, my ride is neither here nor seems to be answering his cell phone. I am keeping myself busy in the meantime by continuously checking and re-checking all my intended camping supplies, toys, and appliances – and, of course, by bitching in this journal about the fact that my ride still hasn’t shown up yet.
I am glad to have these four days to myself to travel through strange unfamiliar lands, pitch tents in the great outdoors, get drunk as lords, get a funny sunburn, and return home with an invigorated sense of direction and worth that my life has been severely lacking lately.
There is something about a road trip that renews my zest for adventure as well as my passion for life. It is simply too overwhelming and stifling to continually roast under the florescent track lighting at the office place like an extra cheeseburger on the warming rack of life for 8 ½ hours a day, 5 days a week, 4 weeks a month, etc, etc, etc. It feels lately, that if I don’t get away from the office place soon, my mug shot will inevitably appear on the front pages of all the local papers under the heading: “DISGRUNTLED EMPLOYEE BLAMES BRIGHT LIGHTS FOR OFFICE MASSACRE”.
So, it’s just as well as I’m taking off for a while – providing my fucking ride gets here, that is.
Border Customs; Buffalo, NY (1:30PM)
We’re free! After a few nervous moments with a border guard after realizing that I did not have my passport, or that we may be subject to being pulled over and having our vehicle searched – we’re waved through successfully, and our journey begins. In fact, the border guard didn’t even seem to give two shits about who we were, where we were going, what we were doing, or how we were going to do it exactly. All he really seemed to want was to get the two wide-eyed, twitchy travelers in the service van to leave his booth altogether; for which, we were only too happy to oblige.
So much for Homeland Security! And so it begins...
Today's trip will take us through three states, one nation’s capital, and ultimately in the green hills of Virginia.
It must also be said that any trip that doesn’t take itself down the I-90 in upstate New York is bound to be at least a decent fucking trip as just about any scenery at all is better than the flat, boring, littered landscape or any of the numerous Rest Stops that dot the I-90 Interstate like malignant tumors. You could spend an entire trip in the trunk of your car and still enjoy more passing scenery than you could through upstate New York.
Today’s intended route will take us instead down Route 15 South through Pennsylvania into Maryland, to Washington D.C., before looping down into Virginia. New territory, new adventure, and new roadside delicacies – I’m just tickled fucking pink to be moving again.
Cosmo’s Meatball & Steaks; Newbury, PA (6:30PM)
It is safe to assume that we are about half way to our destination and craving roadside sustenance. It just also happens that the small town of Newbury, just on the outskirts of Williamsport, PA, is the home to, quite possibly, the world’s best subs. Although it seems that in central Pennsylvania, submarine sandwiches are called “Cosmo’s”, which I believe must translate to “large ass sandwich”. For the next 150 miles to Harrisburg, we were propelled by the seemingly endless excessive power of meatball farts after we woofed down a Meatball Cosmo as big as the Bismarck.
Route 81; Schamokin Dam, PA (8:30PM)
What a cool name for a state city or township. However, as far as I can ascertain from the trip into town from Route 15, there is no dam in Schamokin Dam at all! How fucked up is that?
Upon first glances, Schamokin Dam is like any other small town we passed through – Walmart, Target, Bob Evans, as well as the usual healthy numbers of Adult themed stores and shops. But there is also something a little more sinister lurking hidden on the very periphery of the city’s center.
I bet they actively lynch any tourist who innocently happens to emulate the infamous Jim Carey line “SCHAMOKIN!” in public. I bet the towns people have long since grown tired of this particular joke. By now, it would carry all the comedic weight of a melted rubber chicken. I would also wager, that all copies of the movie ‘The Mask’ have been rounded up, and any subsequent public viewings of the movie would result in hard time cracking rocks at Leavenworth prison. It’s probably impossible to find or purchase a copy anywhere within city limits, except maybe in the Clearance bin of dusty snuff videos in the basement of Adult World.
I’ve only said it once, and already I hate myself.
Somewhere along the Susquehanna River; Harrisburg, PA (8:30PM)
I can’t help but notice that the steep rippled Alleghenies of Pennsylvania spread out over the countryside like the ridges on a gi-normous ribbed condom. Of course, I think that this rather twisted image was implanted in my brain by all the Adult Video & Magazine boutiques, outlets, super stores, clearance centers, etc.
As we traverse the breadth of Pennsylvania, I simply cannot believe the number of porno shops located along the interstates! We probably passed by more Adult porno shops than MacDonald’s fast food franchises – and how many states can claim that? Coupled with the fact that this particular portion of the journey was set to the soundtrack of Van McCoy’s disco classic ‘The Hustle’, this ultimately led to some pretty new and interesting feelings of sexual inadequacy.
The real bizarre thing is that each Adult Novelty shop has a subsequent church either right next door or across the road. By the time we navigated our way through most of Pennsylvania, my unconsciousness had been programmed into thinking that in some way porno was somehow going to save me.
At least the positive benefit of having this strange symbiotic relationship existing between the local churches and Adult video shops is that after you’ve gone and marred your soul by visiting one of these windowless, unkempt buildings* with neon signs advertising “Private Viewing Booths” out front, and having spanked one out in the backseat of your car along the side of the road (which, I assume, is the normal custom judging by all the parked cars pulled over along the Interstate with hazards blinking and the back seat windows covered up with towels), that at most, it would be only a two second drive to confess your sins of the flesh at the local Lutheran Personal Growth Center nearby.
(To be continued...)
* Isn’t there something creepy about a mysterious, windowless farm house-style building on the edge of town? That’s not really the type of place I would want to visit lest I was an axe murderer or something. I would think that something like a Adult novelty shop would be made to appear like a Gingerbread House along the side of the road in order to attract weary, hungry, Christian, traveling perverts.
My apologies, of course, but it was simply time for the Crazytigerrabbitman to step away temporarily from his idiot box and once again pack up all his shit and head off on another cross-country adventure, this time to the beautiful Commonwealth of Virginia, in order to indulge in some impromptu weekend camping, bluegrass, and red mud - lots and lots of red fucking mud – at the annual Haymaker Music Festival in Spotsylvania.
What follows below are taken from my usual comprised journal entries from the four-day car journey as well as the festival itself. As with the travelogues from my prior trips by train and by plane, this particular trip, this time by automobile, is presented in random chronological order and attempts to follow absolutely no logical chain of thought whatsoever. In fact, much of it was conceived under the influence of either large quantities of alcohol, pre-made Teriyaki chicken from festival vendors, or in between joint sessions back at the campsite while hiding out from undercover police officers and sniffing dogs.
Hopefully, some of these random vacation scribblings will be of either interest, or at the very least intelligible.
May 19th; St. Catharines, Ont (11:00AM)
I am successfully packed up and I am beginning to become anxious to begin the first leg of my weekend’s journey – unfortunately, my ride is neither here nor seems to be answering his cell phone. I am keeping myself busy in the meantime by continuously checking and re-checking all my intended camping supplies, toys, and appliances – and, of course, by bitching in this journal about the fact that my ride still hasn’t shown up yet.
I am glad to have these four days to myself to travel through strange unfamiliar lands, pitch tents in the great outdoors, get drunk as lords, get a funny sunburn, and return home with an invigorated sense of direction and worth that my life has been severely lacking lately.
There is something about a road trip that renews my zest for adventure as well as my passion for life. It is simply too overwhelming and stifling to continually roast under the florescent track lighting at the office place like an extra cheeseburger on the warming rack of life for 8 ½ hours a day, 5 days a week, 4 weeks a month, etc, etc, etc. It feels lately, that if I don’t get away from the office place soon, my mug shot will inevitably appear on the front pages of all the local papers under the heading: “DISGRUNTLED EMPLOYEE BLAMES BRIGHT LIGHTS FOR OFFICE MASSACRE”.
So, it’s just as well as I’m taking off for a while – providing my fucking ride gets here, that is.
Border Customs; Buffalo, NY (1:30PM)
We’re free! After a few nervous moments with a border guard after realizing that I did not have my passport, or that we may be subject to being pulled over and having our vehicle searched – we’re waved through successfully, and our journey begins. In fact, the border guard didn’t even seem to give two shits about who we were, where we were going, what we were doing, or how we were going to do it exactly. All he really seemed to want was to get the two wide-eyed, twitchy travelers in the service van to leave his booth altogether; for which, we were only too happy to oblige.
So much for Homeland Security! And so it begins...
Today's trip will take us through three states, one nation’s capital, and ultimately in the green hills of Virginia.
It must also be said that any trip that doesn’t take itself down the I-90 in upstate New York is bound to be at least a decent fucking trip as just about any scenery at all is better than the flat, boring, littered landscape or any of the numerous Rest Stops that dot the I-90 Interstate like malignant tumors. You could spend an entire trip in the trunk of your car and still enjoy more passing scenery than you could through upstate New York.
Today’s intended route will take us instead down Route 15 South through Pennsylvania into Maryland, to Washington D.C., before looping down into Virginia. New territory, new adventure, and new roadside delicacies – I’m just tickled fucking pink to be moving again.
Cosmo’s Meatball & Steaks; Newbury, PA (6:30PM)
It is safe to assume that we are about half way to our destination and craving roadside sustenance. It just also happens that the small town of Newbury, just on the outskirts of Williamsport, PA, is the home to, quite possibly, the world’s best subs. Although it seems that in central Pennsylvania, submarine sandwiches are called “Cosmo’s”, which I believe must translate to “large ass sandwich”. For the next 150 miles to Harrisburg, we were propelled by the seemingly endless excessive power of meatball farts after we woofed down a Meatball Cosmo as big as the Bismarck.
Route 81; Schamokin Dam, PA (8:30PM)
What a cool name for a state city or township. However, as far as I can ascertain from the trip into town from Route 15, there is no dam in Schamokin Dam at all! How fucked up is that?
Upon first glances, Schamokin Dam is like any other small town we passed through – Walmart, Target, Bob Evans, as well as the usual healthy numbers of Adult themed stores and shops. But there is also something a little more sinister lurking hidden on the very periphery of the city’s center.
I bet they actively lynch any tourist who innocently happens to emulate the infamous Jim Carey line “SCHAMOKIN!” in public. I bet the towns people have long since grown tired of this particular joke. By now, it would carry all the comedic weight of a melted rubber chicken. I would also wager, that all copies of the movie ‘The Mask’ have been rounded up, and any subsequent public viewings of the movie would result in hard time cracking rocks at Leavenworth prison. It’s probably impossible to find or purchase a copy anywhere within city limits, except maybe in the Clearance bin of dusty snuff videos in the basement of Adult World.
I’ve only said it once, and already I hate myself.
Somewhere along the Susquehanna River; Harrisburg, PA (8:30PM)
I can’t help but notice that the steep rippled Alleghenies of Pennsylvania spread out over the countryside like the ridges on a gi-normous ribbed condom. Of course, I think that this rather twisted image was implanted in my brain by all the Adult Video & Magazine boutiques, outlets, super stores, clearance centers, etc.
As we traverse the breadth of Pennsylvania, I simply cannot believe the number of porno shops located along the interstates! We probably passed by more Adult porno shops than MacDonald’s fast food franchises – and how many states can claim that? Coupled with the fact that this particular portion of the journey was set to the soundtrack of Van McCoy’s disco classic ‘The Hustle’, this ultimately led to some pretty new and interesting feelings of sexual inadequacy.
The real bizarre thing is that each Adult Novelty shop has a subsequent church either right next door or across the road. By the time we navigated our way through most of Pennsylvania, my unconsciousness had been programmed into thinking that in some way porno was somehow going to save me.
At least the positive benefit of having this strange symbiotic relationship existing between the local churches and Adult video shops is that after you’ve gone and marred your soul by visiting one of these windowless, unkempt buildings* with neon signs advertising “Private Viewing Booths” out front, and having spanked one out in the backseat of your car along the side of the road (which, I assume, is the normal custom judging by all the parked cars pulled over along the Interstate with hazards blinking and the back seat windows covered up with towels), that at most, it would be only a two second drive to confess your sins of the flesh at the local Lutheran Personal Growth Center nearby.
(To be continued...)
* Isn’t there something creepy about a mysterious, windowless farm house-style building on the edge of town? That’s not really the type of place I would want to visit lest I was an axe murderer or something. I would think that something like a Adult novelty shop would be made to appear like a Gingerbread House along the side of the road in order to attract weary, hungry, Christian, traveling perverts.
2 Comments:
Hey man,
i found your blog when i did a google search. i read your profile, you sound so sad....i mean if your cat is happier than you....i wish you could be happy. Are you a Christian? whether you are or not you could ask God to make you happy,God Bless, happygirl
You're making personal judgements about someone you read about during a Google search? And I'M the SAD one?
LOL!
Pulease. Lighten-up, take some vitamin-C, and stop reading all those psychology texts before bedtime - honestly, learn to laugh a little more...you'll thank me for it later.
Am I a Christian? WTF? Obviously you read nothing in this website before deciding you had to post your two cents about me (typical Christain). But since you're so keen on my personal spirituality - no, I'm a devout Agnostic - and happy to be so. If believing in God gives me the right to pass judgement on others before I know anything about them - then i am happy being a healthy heathen.
:)
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