Dawn of Carny Trash

[Originally written on this date in 2002]

For some reason I feel as though I have just come back from a nice, relaxing vacation; well-rested and ready to tackle any obstacle in my way.

Friday I watched Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas while I assembled myself and then drove down to South Jersey to meet up with Jon, as we intended on hitting the theater for some zombie goodness.  It has only been a few weeks since we last saw each other, but that did not stop him from nearly scooping me up into a giant hug despite my laughing protest.

Killed some time at his place with a blunt and Aqua Teen Hunger Force, which is one hilarious cartoon.  Conversation touched on a number of humorous subjects, including one rather absurd idea that involved digging up Joey Ramone and putting his bones on display for $1 a head; $5 if you want a picture.

After the blunt was gone we climbed into his Chevy and wound up at a diner for coffee, lemon pie and even more conversation.  Noted here that there may have been some other substance consumed between Jon’s house and the diner which resulted in a rather giddy duo of Carnies who could not help but laugh at everyone around them.  Sometimes it is easy to forget that other people can hear us when we openly mock them, but for one reason or another we just can’t be bothered to care.  Mostly because of how engrossed in our words we become, and it is impossible to describe how much I enjoy this seemingly simple human function.  There is just something so ordinary about shooting the shit, and most people cannot seem to grasp that concept.

We ended up at a local mall where below mentioned zombie flick was being shown, and all the special little mall rats were hanging out.  So we chilled in the Chevy with a joint while they waited for mommy or daddy to swing by and pick them up.  Eventually we made our way to the ticket box; I swear, that was the one and only time I have ever been carded at a movie theater.  Of course I had to leave my ID in Jon’s car, so we walked back to retrieve it and then had to get back on line to purchase the tickets.  Made a stop at the snack bar for appropriately over-sized popcorn, soda [which may have wound up with whiskey inside of it] and a bag of M&M’s.

Now I have not had the pleasure of seeing the original film, but I must say that I definitely enjoyed Dawn of the Dead, in all its bloodied zombie and exploding head glory. Could have been some more of that, I thought.  There were plenty of funny moments as well which kept us both laughing, and over all, it was a decent movie.  Johnny Cash in the opening credits was a nice touch, and with the exception of Richard Cheese doing a fantastic lounge cover of Down With the Sickness, the soundtrack was pretty lame.

For some reason, the coffee and pie I had consumed earlier gave me rotten belly, and I wound up puking when we got back to Jon’s house.  While I felt slightly embarrassed, he made me some warm tea with milk and honey, then said he had just the thing to fix me up.

The remainder of the evening was spent smoking and watching Half Baked before passing out on the couch at some point.

During my slumber, there was an invisible hand that lightly shook my shoulder, which was ignored at first.  Then it starts touching my waist, and I think to myself: “Who the fuck is stupid enough to be messing with me when I am trying to sleep?”  [Apparently I had forgotten that I was Jon’s house.]

Of course this woke me up out of a sound sleep, but no one was there.  The only other person in the room was Jon, and he was dead asleep on the other side of the couch.  Thinking that I had just dreamed the whole thing, I tried to go back to sleep…then it happened again.

This time I was disturbed enough not to want to attempt any more sleep, so I wandered into the kitchen to brew some coffee and found a half-smoked joint in the ashtray.  Jon groaned and grumbled as he pulled himself off the couch, absently wondering how we managed to get so stoned that we couldn’t make it to the bed.  Reminded him of all the things we watched, which made him laugh as he joined me in the kitchen.  Neither of us wanted to cook, so we decided to go out.

Shielded from the morning sun with our dollar-store shades and fucked up I-just-spent-the-nite-on-a-couch hair, we managed to crawl into another diner and have some breakfast with a side of more conversation.  For whatever reason, I always find myself so damn intrigued by what other people have to say, but I am not sure why.  It certainly helps that the topics are interesting, and it is definitely a plus if you dig the person you are listening to.  Maybe, despite the fact that we were both staring at each other behind tinted lenses, we can still see the expression in each other’s eyes and just be completely at ease.

My thoughts became alive with nostalgia at some point, longing for the crazy days and wondering what happened to insane punk shows at the Cove where holes where made in the walls, tables and chairs were used as weapons and the cops showed up to join the fun.  We shared memories of our favorite basement shows, recounting ridiculous things that happened during performances and generally reflected on the adventures we have accomplished over the past couple of years.

Finding my way inside my car was a difficult task.  On my way back here, I thought about everything that had happened.

The first day of Spring and the sun felt warm on my face, surf tunes blasting as I drove up the Turnpike.  That is when the feeling came to me – I had been on vacation somewhere, a place no one knew where I was.  Freedom.  Nothing but the music and my mind to keep me company as I floated along the asphalt.  It was a truly blissful moment, and I smiled.

This was no ordinary smile.  It was the kind that you will only find on your face on some rare occasion when someone that means the world to you gives you something so incredibly simple that you want to cherish it forever.

He always has that way of making me smile, and I want to tell him why I love him for it.

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