Gotta Take Care Of Th' Red Lady

Gotta do it, man. Don't let th' Red Lady spend another night in the car, man. Gotta roll her in. In the hand truck. Down th' hill. In the dark. With the ghosts.

Gotta roll th' Red Lady in. Pop the top. Tighten some screws. Check the escapement. Check th' tines and dampers. Chase down a groundloop.

What am I going to listen to? I'll tell you what I'm going to listen to- I'm going to listen to the sound of the winter woods out back that stretch for an acre along the creek, baby. I'm going to listen to the little part of my wizened brain that broadcasts music and see what it has in store for me. Then probably this interesting new band called ROAD and then I'm thinking English Settlement. It's old but it's fine, fine, fine.

I used to take that music broadcast as a sacred gift and I used to make sure it all made it off the end of my fingertips or out of my mouth. Now I just let it roll out and I keep it to myself for the most part.

Gotta take care of th' Red Lady, man. She was there for me this week in Glastonbury and Hartford and East Hampton and all those others. Danielson. Bristol. Gotta tighten the hardware. Check the screws. Matcksticks and Elmer's for loose holes. Maybe we'll spend all night.

And right after that, I'm going to go upstairs and pull Sal's tail and give her a Halfasnack. I call them that instead of making it clear I'm breaking a normal dog cookie in half so I don't call attention to her size. Tiny little runt. Wallhugging little twerp of a dog.

I got that from a guy at a recording studio once who said there was a "Halfacat" in the parking lot and we couldn't figure out what that was until we realized there was actually a half of a cat because of some unspeakable vehicular mangling. He's like yeah- I told you- a Halfacat.

Red Lady's heavy. At least 160 lb's. If the universe was a kind and pliant place I'd split the difference between th' Red Lady and Sal The Feist and everyone would be happier. And I'd have to buy more Halfasnacks.


Blogger Kevin Wolf said...

Sounds like a plan. Wish I was there to help carry. Be a roadie for about 2 minutes.

Connecticut towns: Moosup, Jewitt City, shit, Danielson - I'd forgot about that one. You know if you get off I-91 into the hills it's like being in fucking Kentucky, I shit you not.

7:10 AM  
Blogger Employee of the Month said...

Ahhh the powers contained in doggie snackage. Sal's cousin lives with my father-in-law, who lives with us in a bottom floor apartment at EOTM Towers.

While father-in-law was recently out of town we looked after Sal's cousin and convinced him through the persuasive power of superior doggie snackage that live was better outside of the apartment; namely the rest of EOTM Towers. Sal's cousin rarely ventures back to the apartment with his owner, remaining on alert station in my kitchen for the boon of superior doggie snackage.

I, too, have since pared the superior doggie snackage back to halfsies. He hasn't left.

10:37 AM  
Blogger The Viscount LaCarte said...

Anyone know what happened to Simon? I haven't said anything because I just figured he'd resurface. Been a long time.

3:25 PM  
Blogger Bobby Lightfoot said...

I know, dude. I know- it bugs me a lot. I go by the assumption that if he'd gotten hit by a bus or something he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of pulling down his blog. And I know he's felt a valid impulse before to pull down his blog and I just have to assume it's one of those.

That said, I'm sure he's like one of the most welcome people in our corner here and I wish he'd make a peep. Not much we can do over here on th' other side of the world.

3:42 PM  
Anonymous ade said...

Well said, Bobster.
Simon - where the fuck are you mate? Folks are worrying about you.

1:40 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I thought maybe he'd chimed in the other day on your garage band post -- that first anonymous commenter. Hence my follow-up comment.

ps Dude, you might call ur dog a "wallhugging little twerp", but it's clear who's the boss of the household.

2:18 PM  
Blogger Bobby Lightfoot said...

Oh, aye.

2:24 PM  
Blogger mdhatter said...

If you hype it up, as I do toward the bottom of the box, a 'halfasnack' is the best. cookie. ever.

12:34 AM  
Blogger roxtar said...

I've convinced my brood (16 dogs, 4 cats at last count) that a generic dog biscuit is a "cookie." Then I ran out of generic dog biscuits, and I was able to convince them that a stale saltine is a "cookie." Then I saw them eating poop, which to them is also a "cookie." But I'm definitely gonna throw that "halfasnack" thing at them, just furluc.

1:16 PM  
Blogger Bobby Lightfoot said...

A stale saltine isn't a cookie?

Sal thinks cat turds are tootsie rolls.

Good kisser, though.

4:53 PM  
Blogger mdhatter said...

catbox fodder - "turd jerky"

12:30 AM  
Blogger The Viscount LaCarte said...

I thought my idiot dog was the only one who didn't know shit from granola...

12:10 PM  
Blogger Spc. Freeman said...

No, no, Vic, all my old dogs used to do it down. Our family Bouvier used to dive into our catbox and then look up guiltily when caught, errant turds and flecks of gravel still dangling in his beard. Then there was the Shih-Tzu who chowed down on goose shit like it was pate.

*Shakes head* My dogs.

2:01 PM  

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