Untitled (date approximate)

I'm not offended if you call me "Bum"

Cause life's a bitch, you know, and I've had me some

A guilty conscience is never on my mind

Cause I get by, I get high, most of the time

 

Don't open your door, don't look out the window baby

        I might walk by

And if you se me on my way, shufflin'

        Don't look me in the eye

 

Cause you don't want me in your life

Yeah, you better lock those doors up tight

'Fore I come inside, turn on the TV

And head on upstairs for a bite 

 

        Yeah, I see you candy covered jukebox and your

                Mystery ship is my delight

        Time lies motionless in infinity

                Brought on by a high carbon plant

                Mixture -- instantaneous

 

Gypsy Kings, you keep on roaming' down your path

And Gridley police, keep your radar off my back

Shine on Crazy Diamond, and all of that jazz

Keep your hope out on the sidewalk, make me laugh

                Right out loud 

Andrew Letter 42 - School Daze in Chico

 

Hey again. 

 

Got your letter a couple days ago. I should really mail this stuff I write you, eh?

Well, I’ve been in school a couple of weeks now, and not much has changed. The campus itself is nice, set up on a hill with a nice panorama of the plains. It is about 15-20 miles out of town, so as to be inconveniently located away from all three of the communities it services (Chico, Paradise and Oroville).

There are quite a number of diverse groups on campus, i.e., longhairs, hicks, geeks, freaks – the usual assortment. There are no bells. Everyone just sort of knows when to show up.

Today, there was a DJ playing music in the grassy sort of courtyard in the middle of school. He played everything from country to reggae to rap, with a little bit of classic rock thrown in.

Classes? Oh, yeah. Well. I’m in 3 classes, and I really, truly have no idea what for. They are General Ed requirements, but I really doubt that I will be able to handle the scholastic world for long enough to get a Degree out of it. I just don’t see the application in the job world.

I would like very much to learn some kind of TRADE or own my own Small Business and kind of eek (or is it eke?) out a living, as Steve is doing. I know, don’t tell me – he has a Masters Degree. If I had some sort of direction, I’d feel a lot better about enduring the G.E. B.S.

Chico is a really nice town, and I have yet to tap into many of its diversified activities, although so far I have: gone to 2 concerts in the park, 1 college kegger party, 4 art gallery openings, a couple of nature rides in Bidwell Park and been to McHenry’s Diner about 60 times.

Grandpa’s refrigerator doesn’t work, and he is about as likely to fix it as he is to take up scuba diving. GrandpaWorld is a strange place indeed. Anyway, I have fit my college schedule into the prearranged diner times, and it works ok. Other times, I’ll eat at Steve’s on sort of a barter arrangement. I help out a little, and he provides the refreshments.

Tim and Carol came up for a visit this Labor Day, and they got a look at how the diner and nap schedule works firsthand.

School, along with seeming useless, is expensive. Here’s a list of my school related expenses:

Books -- $121.35 

Tuition -- $101.50

 

Books are:

“Taking Sides – Clashing Views on Controversial Issues in Mass Media and Society” – $11.70

“Volume II American History, The Relevant Issues: A history of the US from 1860 to present” -- $21.35

 “The American Past Part II: A survey of American history since 1865” --$31.35

“Biology: Concepts and Applications” -- $48.00

 “Biology: Laboratory Studies for Biology I” -- $8.95

 

I have paid for all this with money I earned this summer. I am not completely broke, but it’s close enough. I paid off all my credit cards and bought a motorcycle. I have been charging my gasoline expenses on a Texaco card, which the nice folks at Texaco sent me while I still had a job. The motorcycle will keep those expenses kind of low.

So, I am not hurtin’ – yet. I could use some new clothes. In this college town, you can get away with T-shirts and shorts but not T-shirts with holes and spaghetti stains.

Anyway, I like it here. If I could get a few friends my age, a girlfriend and a direction in life – then I’d really be cookin’. Well, gotta go. See ya!

 

Love,

Andrew 

(#1 son)

Grampa and the diner ants (91)

Grampa always goes to the diner. On the rare occasions when he makes conversation, it will go something like this:

"I kinda like this place."

--or--

"One time I was in here and there was a whole line of ants runnin' along this wall. So I'd put a bit of food on the table and they'd run right to it. I used to get a kick out of it, but one time I made a comment to the girl about it, and the next time I came in they was all gone."

--or--

"I kinda like this place."

When entering the diner, he glides determinedly past the "Please Wait to be Seated" sign to a booth near the wall where he once saw the ants. Glide on Grampa.

Grandpa's Schedule (91)

He smokes nearly two packs of cigarettes a day and has a cough that makes diesel rig sound like a kitten. His day goes something like this:

3 am -- wake up, go downstairs, sit in chair in total darkness and smoke cigarettes until dozing off

 5 am -- wake up (in chair) and turn on TV

7:30 - 8:30 am -- (depending on when I come downstairs) turn off TV and say, "Let's go get something to eat," or I might say, "You getting hungry yet?" and the answer is always "yeah." Put on shoes and either drive to diner in separate vehicles or in my car

7:45 - 9:30 -- (depending on my school schedule) eat breakfast at diner (coffee, chicken-fried steak and eggs, hash-browns and toast--of which he will ignore the toast and potatoes). Ask "question of the week" (a question which gets repeated 2 to 3 times a day for a period of 1 to 2 weeks. For example:

"Is Tim still working for Douglas?"

"No, I believe he works at LAX."

"The airport?"

Yeah."

"I wonder what he does."

--or—

"How far is it to that college you go to?"

"About ten miles."

"Is that south of here?"

"Yeah."

"I never seen it."

9:30 -- 2:00 pm -- return home from diner, sit in chair, turn on TV (viewing random programming and switching channels at random intervals), smoke cigarettes until dozing off

2 pm -- check mail, make lunch trip to diner (I seldom go to lunch and so this trip is sometimes postponed until the evening run) return home, watch TV, smoke

4:30 - 6:10 pm -- evening diner run, repeat "question of week"

7 pm - 10 pm -- chair, TV, smoke

10pm - 3 am -- climb stairs, sleep

The only variable to this is on weekends or times when I don't call or come home in time for the evening diner run. On these occasions he will drive over to Steve's shop, usually in the middle of Steve's nap or when Steve has friends over. Everybody is really pretty cool about it. I call him Grampa, Steve calls him Dad, and everyone else calls him Arnold or Mr. Buckwitz. He'll just sit there on the couch Steve has, watch TV and smoke until it becomes time to eat.

He will lead the diner brigade unless Steve makes an issue of eating at someplace different. When he does usually he winds up paying for dinner, with Grandpa contributing a token amount. And Grandpa never tips. Once Steve had just got done paying for dinner and had just put the tip on the table when Grandpa scooped it up and put it in his wallet. He thought he had change coming to him.

But it is not all routine. Once, out of the blue, he made a statement that made me look at him differently from then on. It was this: "Ninety-five percent of the time when I dream, I am in my own flying saucer, flying out over different parts of the world."

Fly on Grampa.

Pee-Wee ('91 - something I may have attempted to turn in to my mass media English class teacher)

Pee-Wee wasn't goin' to hurt no one

With his thing out that day

But someone at the Sarasota Sheriff's office told the newspaper

And that's all there was to say. Uh-Huh.

    "Adapted from "Hey Pee-Wee - Where you going with that popcorn in your hand?" 

 

 

There is something base inside each of us who laugh at Pee-Wee's Misadventures. Paul Ruebens was arrested for something slightly more disgusting than coughing up phlegm in public. While we all condemn him for quietly working out his Universal Joint inside a theater, how do we know that he wasn't seated in a section marked "Masturbating" and not "Non-Masturbating?" Although I may not want to shake Pee-Wee's hand, I feel that his sexual outlet is less repulsive than rape. My only thought for his ruined T.V. career is that perhaps he could "go with it" and start a new career in the burgeoning soft core "Kiddie Cable Porn" industry. 

Fake News (1991, before fake news started getting trendy and annoying)

LIVE TO MOST OF THE TRI-COUNTY AREA (EXCEPT GRIDLEY) THE CHICO NEWS REPORT AT FIVE. TODAY'S TOP STORY IS ONE OF POLICE CORRUPTION AND BRUTALITY ON INTERSTATE 99.

MOTORIST DURHAM P. O'REILLY (WHO HAD NOT BEEN DRINKING) WAS PULLED OVER AND STRIP-SEARCHED BY AN OVER-ZEALOUS OFFICER McCULLOUGH C. CHAINSAW.

THE PORKIN' FUZZ OFFICER BELIEVED THAT THERE WERE DRUGS STASHED IN THE 54 YEAR OLD TRUCKER'S COLON, BUT THE CAVITY SEARCH REVEALED ONLY SEVERAL MINOR COMPANY HYGIENE VIOLATIONS.

THE LONG DISTANCE POTATO HAULER WAS NOT CITED FOR THE SEVERAL WARTS WITH HAIR LENGTH EXCEEDING ONE INCH OR FOR DIRTY JOCKEY SHORTS BUT HE WAS SEVERELY SUNBURNED AFTER THE NINETY MINUTE SEARCH. HE WAS ALSO MISSING SOME CHANGE FROM HIS RIGHT FRONT POCKET FOR WHICH HE IS SUING THE BUTTE COUNTY SHERIFF'S DEPT. FOR 14 MILLION DOLLARS.

 CHANNEL 12 NEWS GROVER DUDSMORE REPORTING.

HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN SAWING YOUR LIMBS OFF ON A CIRCULAR SAW, WHEN YOU EXPERIENCE LIGHT-HEADEDNESS OR SHORTNESS OF BREATH DUE TO BLOOD LOSS?

WELL, ONE NORTH COUNTY WOMAN IS TAKING HER COMPLAINT ALL THE WAY UP TO THE SUPREME COURT. SHE IS SUING SEARS FOR SELLING TABLE SAWS WITHOUT PROPER WARNING LABELS. ACCORDING TO MRS. WORSTNIGHTMARE THE SAWS SHOULD CARRY THE WARNING: "DO NOT USE TO TRIM HAIR OR TOENAILS--MAY CAUSE DEATH."

WE WISH HER THE BEST IN HER SUIT, WHICH IS HER TWELFTH TO DATE.

KHSL TV NEWS AT 5

Drug Raid ('90s Grandpa era)

POLICE OFFICER! OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR THIS IS THE POLICE. This is a special forces task unit of the DEA, a branch of the federal government dedicated to fighting the Presidents "War on Drugs". Open the door. You have been found to be in violation. Stop having fun. Do what you're told. You have ten seconds. Do what you're told. You have seven seconds. Place your hands on your head. Feet apart. Four seconds. Three two one...shoot him. He tried to escape. No he was trying to attack the officer. The officer of the law. The police officer....

Part One, the sacraments ('91 - In which I begin a rough outline for my new religion)

Part One, the sacraments. 

1. Music in all forms is sacred. Listening to music is spiritually redeeming. All music shall be appreciated for its value in redeeming, soothing and pleasing the human spirit. Even country western shall be tolerated for this reason. Rule Number One in the Personal Ethics section establishes this premise. Although all music is sacred, some music is more sacred than others in that I, personally, find it to be so. Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, and the Grateful Dead are foundation stones of the faith. Without their music, none of us would exist. Music is to be enjoyed freely, and at whatever volume suits the listener, provided no other life forms are threatened or severely annoyed. A man should be in harmony with his environment. More will come up on this subject later.

 

2. Beer. On this subject, much needs to be said. Beer is great. I find that three or four or five or six beers to be rewarding and satisfying. That's me. People of smaller frame may need to limit consumption, and conversely, those of larger frame may consume more freely. Persons driving motor vehicles should watch what the hell they are doing, regardless of how much they have consumed. If you are going to drink and drive, do it right. Don't swerve, it's a bust. Don't run into other people and kill them, what have they done to be run into by you? Good beer should be sold cheap, after all, those who consume the most beer are usually living at the poverty level already, the should at least be able too drink good beer.*

 

 

** The typewriter ink ribbon ran out at this point, so I never finished constructing my religion

The monkey peed green today ('94, I suppose - margins reflect large handwriting on standard graph paper - errors intact)

The monkey peed green today 

as if afraid that his penis would shrivel up. 

Now he begins to push different levers. 

He is sick of the monotony of endless 

gratification through T.V., masturbation, 

food, and marijuana. He begins to 

see a definite prison, an unbearable 

sameness to everyday. He tries to fight 

this, to enact the pleasure principal. But 

he is bored with all the things that he 

once enjoyed. He looks for something to 

break the monotony. An idea, like an ax-handle 

slams itself into the forefront of his semi-

conscious organic brain tissue. It alivens.

Act One, scene 1 ('91 approximate, typed graph paper original script idea)

Act One, scene 1

 

The curtain opens on an alley scene. Two bums are leaning seated comfortably with their backs against a red, black and white collage which is supposed to remind everyone of the old style building backsides so common in the inner city. There is a spray painted dumpster nearby which lays claim to ownership by seven local street gangs. Trash, overflowing from the dumpster, covers the surrounding area like a blanket of snow. As one glances around the scene, from the street light in the center stage to the dumpster in the back ground to the bums at center stage right it becomes clear that this is a very average alley except in one respect. The bums are watching a 35 inch color T.V. with a remote control and four speaker surround sound. They are playing a casual game of cribbage and commenting on every third news story. On the television the newscaster is being shown dancing topless on the newsdesk, squatting occasionally to pick up another story. The bums simultaneously turn their heads to the T.V. screen and then back away in disinterest. Sex means nothing to them.

 

Bud  (Bum1)

Eye doen know bout chew but eye cain stain lookit her no mower.

 

Bartholomew (Bum 2)

Ewe got that rye-t. Warnst in a wile i gitst t'wherest Ike 'ud gista 'bout puke. She's worse...

 

(Bum 1) Way Worst!

Bum 2) Got to be... 

Hello. ('91 typewritten on graph paper, original typos intact)

Hello. Please allow me to introduce mysel. I am a man of wealth and taste. Ha! That's a joke son. No, I am a very wealth and dignified man about town. I am fifty, sport a grey beard and spectacles and am very fond of pretending to be a blind and helpless old man This is just a ruse I use for picking up the ladies. Somting in my slightly spastic walk that really turn them on. Hey, hey, hey. That what I say.

Vio-lation (1991 rap song)

YOU are an addict and the faster you realize it....the faster... the faster...the faster...

uh, uhh, uuuhhh-nkkk! kkk! kk-

kept alive by the sound of music, pulsating, racing, I'm always spacing, quietly gracing, never retracing.

My steps. I have no regrets, I never forget and I take what I get. Forget the rest. Get dressed. Get out on your Quest.

Your own self don't sit on shelf. Ya got a problem? Well go ____  yourself.

Uh, uuhh, uuhhh-nk!

YOU are in direct violation! You are indirect. In vio-vio, vio-lation. A child's sensation, annihilation of negation and just the right amount of free procreation.

That's nice. I got no vice. I'm on ice. I play my life like the roll of the dice.

No direction--no retrospection. I'm just tryin' to spread a little affection. No need to mention, I'm not tryin' to attract any attention. That's your convention.

I'm not volunteering. I just want a fair hearing. You can't control the car if you just let go the steering. The crowd is cheering or is it jeering? No difference to me cause I ain't the one appearing.

You are in vio-violation. You-you you are inviolate of the code. You have no helmet on your cat. You could go to jail for that.

Jail for that.

Jail for that.

Jail for that.

Another Nutjob Personal Ad Rough Draft

Whoa! Hi there. I'm Andrew, I'd love to meet you and avoid trying to describe myself. I'm a first time ad placer; I've never done anything like this before in my life. I am interested in meeting a girl for friendship, fun and romance. 

Well, where would I take you, and what kinds of things would we do? Call me and find out. 303-6961. 

Ok, so I'm 5'9", 160, blond, green eyes, John Lennon fashion eyewear, favor Classic and Underground Rock, laid-back, neo-sixties type outlook on life, like simple pleasures. Like walking hand in hand down a shady lane, or hiking to a secluded picnic spot, bringing along the choicest of party supplies. I play guitar. I like to dine out, but I wouldn't mind cooking for the right woman. I can follow a recipe. 

Aw, shucks - - this is just not fair. Please call me, 303-6961. Let's go out, let's get wild, let's get naked (just kidding...sort of).
 
Let's meet, become acquainted and spend some time together. See how it goes. What could go wrong?

----
 
I'm a nice guy. Ask my mother. No, heh, don't do that. Ask my roommate. If he ever comes home. Well, I gotta go. But hey, all I am saying... is give me a chance...all together now.

----
 
Oh, by the way I am the rugged burly outdoor type, perfectly capable of growing a ZZ top beard, though I choose to be clean shaven most of the time. Also, I live in a tiny cluttered apartment. But I'd move out for the right woman, providing her house was large enough.
 

TV is bad (1991 unfinished mini-rant)

Television is a drug. We come home, tune in, turn on and drop off. We are too dependent on the bright-flashy images to develop thoughts or ideas of our own. So we accept the pre-fab, FCC-approved TV life. Along with guiding our mores toward the "norm" and our purchases toward the correct brand of underarm protection, this drug of docility perpetuates societal status quoism.

Little Shy Horses (91)

Little Shy Horses

Step so gingerly.

They don't strut their stuff like other horses do.

Their nostrils never flair.

Snorting's not their style

But they're just waiting for their chance to be wild.

They unpretentiously let their mane fall to one side as

They quietly drink, first making sure they are completely unobserved.

They yearn to frolic, to scrape and scuff the earth, to run

Like thunder across the open plain.

But the gate, which will remain forever shut, keep

Shy little horses, imprisoned behind longing, misty

Shy Little Eyes.