BoomerAngst
CHAPTER 1 (excerpt)
June, 1998. NBA playoffs tonight. Gotta wake up Scott. Scott just got out of the hospital-- almost died-- and can't walk very well these days. Two weeks ago, we were just drinking it up, like we always did. Laughing, sexing, talking-- all through the night. No problems. Well, except we were dead broke raging alcoholics, living in San Fernando in the house Scott grew up in.
Scott's business-- which was supposed to make him millions-- had taken a nose dive last year. He was a bit depressed about that. And I was losing everything I had-- left and right. Not that I had that much to begin with, but at least what I had seemed to form some sketchy semblance of structure in my life. But now, everything was quickly collapsing, as if some vengeful avalanche was coming down on me. Money got so weird and tight, and I got sick of calling the utility companies and the landlord every goddamned week begging for extensions. I've done that too many times, and I guess I reached my limit. So I rack my brain to come up with some creative way to prevent being booted out on the street. I wouldn't mind that much but I have kids.
I come up with a plan: Cut loose my financial obligations-- for starters. Give my 21-year old son, Cody, my apartment at the beach and he'll get a roommate. I'll ship my 12-year old daughter, Tyler, to live with her anal, controlling father, Dirk, in the San Fernando Valley for the summer. Tyler and I are tied at the hip, and it won't be that easy-- especially for her-- but it's gotta be done. Mommy's going off to war, baby. I'll be home soon. She's not thrilled with the idea, but she understands.
CHAPTER 3 (excerpt)
"May you live in interesting times"-- the old Chinese curse which means, "Good luck, you bastard. May you burn in hell."
Well, it's been getting pretty damn "interesting" lately. Two weeks ago, this horrible pain in Scott's right side started hitting him and it never let up. It got worse and worse and he would just take it. He's a Real Man. Right. More like a Real Moron. He'd wretch around and scream and moan and then he started spitting up blood. Next, blood started coming out his ass and I would wash it off his body-- all the way from his butt to his feet. This was extremely tough for me since I have a very weak stomach and I am not Florence fucking Nightingale- and never wanted to be. But somehow fate has cast me in this dicey role. The hardest part is keeping my mouth shut. No comments from me are allowed regarding getting his ass to a doctor or emergency room for any professional medical help. Scott tells me to stay out of his business. "Stay out of his "karma."
Stay out of his karma? Looks to me like I'm up to my neck in his goddamned "karma".
Anyone looking at my life from the outside-- like my friends, for example-- they all think I've lost my mind and that I'm a complete loser. Hard to argue that one. Most of the time, I think the same thing. But I have this faint glimmer of otherworldly hope that I stupidly hang on to as if some heavenly host of glistening, ghostlike, Indian spirit guides-- who are extremely wise and perfect in every way-- are one day gonna come around and save my sorry ass. The problem is, it never happens. And yet, like an idiot, I hold on to "the dream". It's starting to occur to me at this point that my perspective on everything is completely screwed up. But still, on I march, in my stupor. It's pathetic and somehow poignant at the same time. What in the hell went wrong? All the really "sharp" people are raking in the dough while the scenes of my life just keep getting more and more ridiculous.
Half the time I want so badly to figure it out and the other half of the time I just don't give a shit.
CHAPTER 4 (excerpt)
I head for the freeway back to San Fernando. All of a sudden, I get this ominous feeling: The loan on my car is two months overdue and the company dogs are hungry and about to play their ace-- to find me and take my T-Bird, which I pay way too much for-- and which I haven't been paying for. I tried to work out a negotiation with them for lower payments but since I had only made two, they said no-- and they meant it. I really don't like these guys. I was safe in San Fernando until they tricked me and I called them from Scott's house. My mistake. I should have gone out to a phone booth. Anyway, because of caller ID, they now know where the T-Bird and I are hiding out. They're definitely coming for the car today, Friday. I can feel it. So I can't go back there. I'm not turning my car over to those assholes.
I stop at a 7-11 to call my cousin, Wheeler. He knows about these things. He's not home. I get his machine and leave a message to page me immediately. Meanwhile, I guess I'll find something to do in this part of town. There's a black guy at the phone next to me. He's talking to his "bitch" about a bunch of things. He's in control of the situation but it looks to me like he's on the street. When he hangs up, for some reason, I tell him my situation.
We talk for ten or fifteen minutes about the whole deal. He knows where I can get a car in Van Nuys at Flash Gordon's car lot for three or four hundred down. Sounds good but I've only got $150. We keep talking. He wants to help me. Next thing I know, I've got Cleon in my T-Bird and we're going out to do some of Cleon's "errands"-- which I'm not going to go into detail about right now, but maybe later. It turns out he's just gotten out of prison on some kind of theft charge. He calls himself "The Grand Master". Cleon has a plan. His partner, Stu, has a Cadillac that he inherited (so it's not traceable by the Repo Man) and we're gonna switch cars-- just for awhile-- until I can make enough money to pay up the loan company and get them off my case. Then I'll take my T-Bird back and return the Cad to Cleon and his partner. They're not getting such a bad deal. The Cadillac is kind of beat up and older with ripped seats and god knows what else is wrong with it. My car has leather seats, a sunroof, a kick-ass stereo and it's almost new.
But somehow it seems like the right thing to do, like it was destiny or something. My prayers have been answered. Cleon has appeared to save me. God has chosen him and I am a righteous person after all.
Things are looking up. We go to Chief Auto Parts to pick up a brake cable to get the Cad running and then we go to Stu's house. I spend three hours with these guys trying to get the piece of shit to run, which it never does. Cleon promises me he'll have it fixed early tomorrow morning and bring it out to Scott's house. Then I'll drive him back over to Stu's. He'll keep the T-Bird overnight so it won't get repo'd. I figure he's right. If I'm gonna lose my car anyway tonight, it's not gonna be to the Repo Man and those criminals at the loan company. I'll take my chances with The Grand Master.
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