O-to-the-bama in Missoula! Moments before Ms. Moy posted this to the web I got the e-mail from the campaign and had my ticket RSVPed...because seeing Obama once on Saturday just isn't enough for me apparently. Hope to see lots of you there...
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One of my favorite stories from working at the Indy came by way of Ward 6 candidate Lewie Schneller. Remember him? He ran against councilman Ed Childers by breaking election rules and spreading half-truths he got from unnamed Republicans on Council and in the community. Anyway, Lewie came to meet with myself and our publisher, Matt, so he and I could ask him questions leading up to our endorsement package. You may remember that we endorsed Childers on that one for many reasons, but there was an incident behind closed doors that makes me laugh: At one point Lewie looked at me and said something like, "You wouldn't want to live in one of these alley houses just tagged on and stuck on the back end of a lot. They're terrible and ugly and no one wants them. I mean, where do you live?"
I couldn't help myself. "Well, Lewie, I live in an infill alley duplex in Ward 6 because I can afford the rent." The look on his face was nearly as funny as when I asked a certain individual about her part in a failed performing arts center in the Poconos.
The reason I'm thinking of this today is I kind of now agree with Lewie, but not because he's right. I just want to destroy my duplex...with my neighbor still inside. I'm imagining a huge gas explosion...
To explain why I hate my neighbor, who I usually call Drug Dealer: he sells drugs to super sketchy people. Now, as someone who's spent many a night blissfully strung out on various substances (we call this "college") I can usually take a few stoners talking about Phish, or how they think people should just, you know, like, love each other...and stuff. But I can't stand speed freaks and that's who he usually sells to.
A tale: So back a few months I'm in bed when suddenly someone is banging on my door yelling, "Get me my fix man. My fucking drugs! I just fucking need something man. I just...AAAAHHH!" At that point the person started kicking my door in and for the first ime in the five years since I moved to Missoula I found myself brandishing a knife, ready for a fight with a psychopath. It was, to say the very least, surreal. But this fight didn't happen because Drug Dealer, woke up to the sounds, called out, "Man, I live over here."
Great...he saves the night by selling meth (coke?) to a speed freak? Asshole.
On another night I came home to find two people sitting in a crappy old Honda Civic hatchback putting a lighter to a spoon. For those of you unaware of what this is, it's someone melting down rocks. Yeah, great. Just what I wanted to find in my driveway – idiots getting high. They froze and stared at me, and I just shook my head.
Okay, one more story: So I go away for a night and when I get back John tells me that he punched drug dealer in the mouth. I just point this put cause I got really jealous since I dream about it nearly three times a week. God it'd feel nice to punch this kid, and here's why: He blares shitty music, namely Rage Against the Machine.
As a former punk fan I feel I must point out the hypocrisy of RAtM, that while they act anti-capitalist (I remember once seeing their singer wear a Che t-shirt, which I thought made little sense since he bought a shirt to promote a communist rebel) the band made cash off of Sony Records, ya know, one of the "big three." Bastards. "Oh we hate the capitalist facists running this country...except for the ones who pay us."
Plus, their music sucks. Sucks bad. If you told me Hell was RAtM records played all day I would go join a fundamentalist cult. And quick. I don't need that crap for eternity. I would rather listen to the 20-minute live version of "Stairway to Heaven" be played over and over again (Note: that song sucks too).
When you mix his drug dealing with his shitty music is it any wonder why I'd like to go Anaconda Irish on his ass? But maybe you're not convinced yet... Well, how's this: I've been cordial to him. I've been nice when I see him, and I've even changed from playing my electric on my normal amp to using my practice amp with headphones because he complained. Today I actually asked him to turn down his craptastic music and he gave me lip, "You always, like, have some girl over, man, like, talking, and, stuff, ya know? Like, you can be up late talking, and stuff. So I'm fucking playing this to, like, ya know, cause, I, um, I want to, ya know?"
Quick sidenote: I hate people who end statements as questions. Could you imagine Obama doing that? "Yes we can...ya know?" Makes my stomach turn.
After all of that I think I have every right to knock down my duplex, making Lewie happy, and myself ecstatic. Or I could just, as I've said, go Anaconda Irish on my neighbor's ass. (To quote my friend John, "My knuckles are burning...") I think I need to start doing yoga again, or at least leave my house...maybe that's the problem...
Wait, now Drug Dealer's listening to the band Rush...damnit...he IS the problem.
4 comments:
Ugh. Rush just makes me want to kill on general principles. It's crazy-making noise.
Exactly. It's like a big sandwich made of bad.
This was a kick ass post.
You DO need to expound a bit more on that PAC interview sometimes, pretty please? It sounds just like something that might make me smile.
And I already loved that story in the first place. You were the only one that gave it justice. A damned shame that it was brushed over by that other....oh, nevermind!
There's another character in that post who has a particularly funny tale attached to him, but I'm saving that one for bar banter and other special occasions.
Also, I don't think I ever gave a "holla" for directing traffic to that story. It's one I was particularly proud of... so, I now give a belated holla to the 4&20 clan for sending love out for that story.
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