March 7, 2013.  Mad journal.  For those that are really mad, by someone who’s really mad. Look out, he’s really mad.  That’s right.  It’s not contagious.  It comes from within, like insanity.  Rise at noon after twelve hours in bed.  Second night in a row.  The plan is to sleep the shingles to death, with the help of an ass-kicking drug cocktail and several Löwenbräus.  And perhaps a sprinkling of Glenmorangie.  And I may be on to something.  The affliction may perhaps have peaked.  I soothe my spirit with some vacuuming around the suite then break for lunch.  Then procrastinate a few hours.

Around four we drive to the booze store.  I’m holding down a part time job there in these mad times and, as there’s been no work for a month, feel a need to show the flag. The security guards, who for some reason love me, want to shake my hand. It could be they have been impressed with my consummate talents as an actor. I pretend I’m not affected by the travesty of me working here, and they enjoy the performance every time out. I’m here to look at the sheet to see if there’s any shifts coming up.  There are none.  Zeros are easy to keep track of and, on second thought, I do exit with a six pack of Löwenbräu for safety. You know how it is when you can’t stand the thought of running out.

You can get away from pretty much anybody you want except maybe yourself, I was thinking, as we come down Cambie Street.  As usual, driving our twenty year old hulk, I’m also preoccupied with all the flash cars in this town.  Next to us for half a minute is an example of the brand new Lexus ES350.  Tail lights reminiscent of some recent Beamers, I’m thinking, craning my neck to see the driver and sole occupant.  Wow. It’s a mature white guy. Why the heck didn’t you get a better colour than this stone gray? I  want to ask him. I wonder if he’s happy with his magnificent piece of tin.  I’ll never know.  Heads off in the right lane.

Black Dog Video and we labour long and hard.  Half the movie titles sound the same and most of them have the same actors and actresses in them.  I think there’s some kind of thing to lose the word “actress” for something else, “actor” like the guys, or something.  It’s just something I’ve noticed.  But “actress” and “actresses” are beautiful words and they’re usually about beautiful people.  Why would you want to get rid of that out of some ape-induced sense of gender equality or whatever is going on there?  They’re actresses, apes.  Actresses.

It’s funny how when someone dies before they’ve even quit work it upsets their retirement plans.  Okay, forget that.  Enjoy your retirement, ape!  It’s maddening all right. R.I.P. G.W.

The Pie Queen is here tonight and we are looking forward to a magnificent hoedown.  It’s been too long.  I head downstairs sure that she has made great progress in the making a pie idea, probably has the flour out of the jar by now, and when I get there see that the pie has not only got itself together but is already in the oven baking.  Sheesh yeah, exclamation point!  Fastest Pie Queen in the west.  Watch yourself around her.

We watch “Skyfall” or “Downfall” or “Upswing” or whatever it’s called. It’s a bad cartoon. Why are you the spic in every damn movie now, Javier? I’m still looking for a copy of “Iron Sky” though. That is a brilliant piece of work.

Author: Steven Brown


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