12,368. RUDIMENTS, pt. 895

RUDIMENTS, pt. 895
(off-frame, back-stage, somewhere 
way out on Route 6)

There are some real stupidities

in this town  -  I can pick two

right off the top of the list. 

They're each quite indicative,

and preposterously stupid.

I can probably pick two 

hundred more, yes, but

I won't  - and that's leaving

out Christmas lights. First

off, at Route One and Avenel

Street, at the fire house; when

you're sitting at that light, the

left lane is arrow-marked for

turning left, and the arrow

for that turn gets its own 30

seconds at the first green of

the light. All's fair, yes, but

apparently, for the dung-flies

of this town, that only allows

for two or three cars, and then

after the arrow changes for

regular green-light flow,

most often the lead car then

just sits there, well back, and

behind the right line. They're

dumb enough (I guess that's 

a reverse achievement) not

to realize that 'turning' here

means that the light is still

'green' and it's their driving

responsibility not to sit there

but instead to ease well up 

the intersection and cross-lane

and still take whatever advantage

they can to complete their turn.

And thereby give the 6 or 8

other left-turners behind them

the privilege of driving. But,

no; in the Avenel version of

success they just sit there

and wait again through an 

entire other sequence of

lights. You may say I'm

carping, but to me it's so

indicative of the post-Chernobyl

mentality around here as to need

calling out. Genetic Deficiency

Street, at the corner of No Brain. 

Here's another : the geniuses

in Town Hall, and the local

rep genius too, puff and

blather about the 'coffee-shop'

coming to their backwash Arts

Center any day now. Bada-Bing

Coffee. So, they start running 

a local intro-ad about themselves.

Two moronic Neanderthal guys,

less their tiger-skin jodphurs and

mace/club, bragging on about,

get this  -  an entire showy ad

about, NOT their coffee, or the

roasting, or the bean-quality, etc.,

but instead the entire ad is a show

off of their newest equipment

(franchised location somewhere)

which bags and packages the

roasted beans, for sale. Fellas

that's machinery; that's an

automated bagging machine

that any packager can buy.

Talk about the bean, the roast,

the coffee, you witless morons.

I can tell already, that place

is going to be a real joy.

-

In fact, this entire artificial turf 

of Arts Center City keeps gagging

me. Metuchen's got one coming

too. Probably so does South

Amboy, if they can get an

outside developer interested

in peddling such a fiction for

their town. This is all so fake,

as fake as Mayor McCormac

feigning intelligence. What's

been going on here, for years

now, is a simple town sell-out.

-

I really used to like the 'country'

because being in the sticks kept me

away from all this gobbledygook.

Now I'm up to my neck in it, on

a daily basis. Out there, way up

along Route 6  -  where it was 

called 'The Grand Army of the

Republic Highway,' there

wasn't much constabulary or

police presence. The best you'd

get, depending on the severity

of the emergency, was the

Pennsylvania State Police to

show up an hour or two later,

as they got around from the

Towanda Barracks (or even

the Scranton ones, 80 miles

east) and if they could find

your hillside or hollow and

get their way through the trees

and woods, with high-leather

boots on, holsters, and pistols

and rifles already drawn and

at the ready. Justice up there

was quirky, and often swift

and efficient too. Point of

fact  -  those boys actually

were in more danger by being

up in those parts than was

ever any local. Firepower

I guess being about equal?

-

If someone ever had one of

those three-way lights up there,

like the one on Avenel Street,

I'd be pretty certain there'd

not have been any one there 

doing that same driving error

as is done locally here. Alive

anyway. Up there, also, you

would - just maybe - every

5th or 6th highway town along

the way, 15 or 20 buildings 

of it, be in luck if there was

a local police station with

one or two Barney Fyfe 

squad cars and an equally

inept local reject or two as

road-cop. They always seemed

to reserve those sort of local

cop jobs for the saddest cases

of the local boys who couldn't

fit in anywhere else, or who's

Dad had paid for the set-up,

or, as in the 1970's, had just

been mustered out of their 

two or four Vietnam 'combat'

years. It was never good. I

was fair friends with one

myself, who lived nearby.

Fair to say, the man was an

inveterate killer, whether from

his combat years or not. The

one thing on his mind was

killing. Another, of course,

was women, and their varied

attributes. Now, I'm not lying

here in saying this, but the

bulk of this man's job, 

policing locally, as they

passed nearby, Routes 6

and 14, and any of the 

other paved, secondary 

roads around. Suffice it 

to say I was often told how

women will do 'anything'

to get out of a speeding 

ticket. I think the guy was

full of it.

-

There are whole other realms

of differences between places.

Think of it, and then think of

me, landing with intensity,

in a few short years in at least

4 different ones. Each of those

environments called on a

different set of skills and

awareness from me  -  pretty

weird. (This doesn't count 

the seminary years, nor the

hospital time). Mastering

these varied power-skills,

to get by, and to make my

way and prosper, with 

mesmerizing. The New

York City time, being the first

and the most intense and

maybe too the most

surprising, actually went 

fairly well, on the whole.

Then the deep Pennsylvania,

hillbilly years, of the sort

I'm talking about here, then

Elmira, Ithaca, the colleges,

the mediocre raft of people,

then the Jersey re-entry later

an, and all those boring work

years pretending to be interested.

It was as if I was center-stage,

but I knew the real action

was going on, behind me,

off-frame, back-stage

somewhere else.