Friday, July 13, 2007

summer time blues (and reds)

There’s something very interesting about living in a metropolitan town where only miles from the heart of the city lies a shit load of summer fun. I live a stone throw away from downtown and am a drinking, fucking, all around cancerous type of man. Yet, in the last few weeks, I have laid out in the sun at Edgewater staring at the skyline (and avoiding trolling gay guys), hiked in the woods and stood knee deep in the dark Rocky River waters catching Sheep Head. There are very few places like Cleveland where an ugly part of the music scene can transform himself in to a Huck Finn with such little effort.

But with this new found outdoorsmen attitude comes the harsh reality that God hates us all (also a Slayer song title). In the midst of my last solo fishing trip (there is nothing that takes the pain of being a loser away like fishing alone in a valley) some kind of organic garbage found its way into my right eye and gave it the gift of infection. If you have met me you probably know little more about me other than that I have beautiful eyes. No longer. The eye I speak of is an unholy red. Not the type of red that might come from a huge bong rip but rather it looks like it was penetrated by a rusty rail road spike. And a lot of discharge is involved.

Today is the first day of the past three that I can raise my head high enough to look around the house due to this bastard known as light. I have no intention of seeing the outdoors anytime soon except for the hundred foot walk to and from my Buick. The city and the country do not mix. Outdoor life is fine when looked at through a television screen or an Al Gore documentary. Listen to me. If you go in the wilderness of Cleveland this summer you will get stung, slapped, laughed at and then your eye will be infected.

I am getting a chance to read, though; a paragraph an hour. Currently it’s the Lemmy autobiography, White Line Fever. I think Lemmy and I could have been mates. I doubt he has any desire to ever fish in a filthy river again, either. Though he probably never did so to begin with. The speed might make you yearn for other things.

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