On Evolving Into “Ivory Garbage”.

A lady of mine advised me early on today of exactly what kind of day she would surely become. It turns out she did. Oh my dear; this can’t be happening to me. Not me. I enjoy things like Stanley Kubrick and comic books. Not me. Culture is changing, though; maybe I’m changing with it? Or perhaps this was nothing more than an anomaly? Those kinds of things happen all the time. White Trash Sunday she would become. Known forever in my mind as the warning (hopefully not the prequel) to hickdom.

It all started innocent enough. I said something really stupid to start the day- which warranted a backlash- which led into excursion. We went to the electronics store to preview a couple things and gander at whatever else. The moment we left EMPTY HANDED, I knew we were on the verge of something bad. Only certain types of people stroll into electronics stores and leave with absolutely nothing. If anything, someone with half a sense of art appreciation at least buys one CD or movie. Shit- even the common dipshit purchases a video game (probably something like Madden or Guitar Hero). But alas, I- we- did walk out empty handed. What came next is something I’m almost never prepared for when it struts my way.

Out of the blue someone (who shall remain nameless) shouted triumphantly “WHITE CASTLE!!”. Inside my brain I shuttered, inside my heart I wept, and inside my stomach I came. White Castle gets my gut aroused like a nice round ass does. But I went along with it. You see: I was hungry as hell, hadn’t had Castle in a while, and was scoring points (but that’s another story). So off we go to Castle. On the way we passed a gigantic “yardsale” outside of a Stadium-esque Evangelical Church of Gawd. That one. I knew right away I was becoming White Trash when the GIANT yellow tent captured my eyes; I followed that tent as we passed, not exactly watching where I was driving my car to.

White Castle did taste good; I mean goddamn, I gotta admit that. And I hate to say it. But an amount close to a hand’s digits is when the towel, or the white flag, gets thrown in or raised respectively. How could a single human being devour even a 10-sack?? It’s Uncanny [X-Men]. (Kitty Pryde is dead? What the fuck? For real? Serves her right for being so self righteous. Frost would never kick the bucket like that. Why? Cause she’s a fucking bitch dammit!) “That hit my spot. Delicious. Enough to make my innards dance”, I said. No I didn’t; but something close to that effect.

Driving back we made the decision to actually stop at this K-Mart rejection item’s Super Store known as the “BIG Yard-Sale”. Someone give me a gun; if I actually WAS a hick, I’d own one! This whole thing is starting to bite me in the ass. I parked and we entered through the gaping wide opening labeled “Enter Here”. Could sure use that firearm right about now. “I know my Second Amendment dammit!” But how many of them know the 13th? This was a mish-mash of nostalgia, actually quite the sight to behold. A playful batch of goodies so ignorant of the current year they’d cite the “Timelife” textbooks, from their own ranks, to tell us that mental disorders are poppycock. I shouldn’t talk too much shit though- there were some great items: a fully working Polaroid Camera, some sort-of Earth auger, a piano, keyboards, front doors, and the like. I found a beauty of a piece on row 5. A working Smith-Corona Classic 12 typewriter from the 70s. This thing is fucking badass. It came inside this ultra tough suitcase-type dealy; now I can forge my dreams of GONZO journalism into reality.

Onward we journeyed to AxeMan. This probably the least white/ivory-trash/garbage of them all. Besides the electronics store of course. No- scratch that; we came out with NOTHING. This store rocks hard. “Communist Red Toys”, Rubber Biscuits, motors of all shapes and sizes, stoplights, manikins, Batman Velcro straps and neckties, MPH guns, and a goddamn dentist’s chair. I bought a new little case, which will fit nicely into my typewriter case, which will again play into the travel-cross-country-beat-gonzo theme. Although, I’m not aspiring towards that; not because I don’t want to, because I CAN’T (unfortunately). New millennium interstate travel is vastly different from that of the 40s through 70s. It just doesn’t work that way anymore (I’m sorry WSB, JC, AG, HST, and the rest).

And to top it all off- I ate fucking fast food twice today. In order to balance out my levels I’m going to need to do these things tomorrow: 1) wake up BEFORE Price Is Right comes on, 2) listen to Wu-Tang Clan, 3) talk shit about NASCAR and Miller and Bud, 4) eat a salad, 5) wash my hands thoroughly and regularly, 6) read some classic Russian literature, 7) Spend at least 2 hours painting (abstracts especially), *WHAT THE FUCK??  Since when is an 8 followed by a close-parentheses a goddamn smiley face with sunglasses?  What’s this culture coming to??  Sweet mercy fuck shit fuck… I need a drink.  Anyways… NUMBER EIGHT)  Go an entire session of guitar playing without the slightest inclination towards a Lynard Skynard riff, 9) think hard about global poverty and hunger, and 10) solve my own problems.

Good luck with that.

-Sonny

~ by sonnywilkins on July 13, 2008.