7.27.01

Hey Monkeys. Well, I should have updated before now, but, well, I’ve had a new distraction in my life since Tuesday. My roommate went out and bought a Playstation 2 and, dang it, the motorcycle game we got is just way too much fun. But, I’m back and will be next week too; the fun of the new toy is already starting to wear off.

As you might recall I was to go to a Miles Davis concert at a local museum. Sadly, I was a few weeks too late in hearing about it and it was already sold out. You have no idea how much this disappointed me. But, shit happens, I guess. I’m still going to the museum this Saturday to see the exhibit itself, even if I can’t hear it live. Should be cool.

Have a little announcement, nothing major, but figured I’d let you know about it. Very soon, possibly next week, but I’m not making any promises, I will be selling some Space Monkey merchandise. Through the wonders of the internet, I’m setting up a membership at cafepress.com, a great little website that is a short-run, specialty item printing company. They’ll let you put virtually anything on a t-shirt, coffee mug, mouse pad, even a baseball hat (I WILL be buying one of those) all at no cost to your company. In fact, if you want to, you can even make the cost of your items higher than their minimum and they’ll send you a check at the end of the month for anything you sell. Pretty sweet, huh? Well, I’ll be putting all the merchandise on there at cost, mainly because frankly, I don’t ever expect to sell anything; it’s more for me than anyone else, but you never know. And yes, I do see the irony in a guy who claims advertising is the root of all evil hocking t-shirts with his logo on it, but then you haven’t exactly seen these shirt designs I’ve come up with either. Anyway, that’ll be happening soon so be on the lookout for me wearing a Space Monkey t-shirt any day now.

Ok, now I alluded to my latest entry last time by saying “Damn you, Jack Kerouac” and, well, I still feel the same way.

If you don’t know who Jack Kerouac is, you’ve probably heard the name once or twice, but aren’t exactly sure why so I can sum him up real quickly for you. He was the guy who defined “The Beat Generation”; the precursors to the hippies, so we’re talking late ‘40’s to early ‘60’s. They were big into jazz, big into philosophy, exploring alternate religions, and living as irresponsibly as they possibly could, while they could. Basically they were everything I aspire to be, but could never be. And that is where ol’ Jack comes into play.

I’m reading his first major book, his real breakthrough, called “On the Road”. It’s essentially a road trip story with the main character, Sal Paradise, criss-crossing America however he can – hitchhiking, riding buses, driving old jalopies, and even simply walking. It’s all about the things he sees, the events that take place, and most importantly, the people he meets. And, boy, does he meet some strange folks.

But it’s not just random people he meets; there is a common thread in his good friend, Dean Moriarty. Dean is constantly on the move, never staying in one place very long, never sleeping with the same woman for more than a few months, sometimes marrying them and leaving them without getting a proper divorce until some time later when he makes his way back through town. He’s quite insane, but that’s what makes him so great. And that’s why Sal loves him like a brother.

The book is very much a modern day “Huck Finn”, with Sal being Huck and Dean being old Jim; or maybe it’s the other way around, sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s running from what between Sal and Dean. Either way, it has that same awe, that same sense of adventure, that same escape from your normal, boring life that all road trips are supposed to supply. And Kerouac does it with such style.

Kerouac’s writing is hypnotic. That’s not a bad thing; it’s so incredibly good that you don’t even realize it. It could almost be considered the first rap music as there is a definite beat, a rhythm behind it. I got about one hundred pages in before I realize that this was simply begging to be read aloud and thank God I came to this realization. This brings out the rhythm so much more and makes it an incredibly interesting and enjoyable read. Sometimes when I finish a chapter, I expect to hear the man lightly playing the snare and top hat to stop with a nice sharp clack of the drum and for everyone in the coffee house to start snapping their applause. It’s invigorating, it’s fun, and it’s a whole new experience. This has been the worst, or I should say best, part of reading “On the Road”; everywhere I go now I hear that rhythm in my head and I find myself describing my situation in a manner similar to his. Of course I’m not putting myself on his level, but I feel like I’m seeing the world differently now and it’s really quite cool.

I know this might be sort of hard to understand, so here’s a little sample. If you won’t be too embarrassed, I’d recommend reading it out loud so you can really hear the beat.

“What of the others and all the soundmaking? There was the bass-player, wiry redhead with wild eyes, jabbing his hips at the fiddle with every driving slap, at hot moments his mouth hanging open trancelike. “Man, there’s a cat who can really bend his girl!” The sad drummer, like our white hipster in Frisco Folsom Street, completely goofed, staring into space, chewing gum, wide-eyed, rocking the neck with Reich kick and complacent ecstasy. The piano – a big husky Italian truck-driving kid with meaty hands, a burly and thoughtful joy. They played an hour. Nobody was listening. Old North Clark bums lolled at the bar, whores screeched in anger. Secret Chinamen went by. Noises of hootchy-kootchy interfered. They went right on. Out on the sidewalks came an apparition – a sixteen-year-old kid with a goatee and a trombone case. Thin as rickets, mad-faced, he wanted to join this group and blow with them. They knew him and didn’t want to bother with him. He crept into the bar and surreptitiously undid his trombone and raised it to his lips. No opening. Nobody looked at him. They finished, packed up, and left for another bar. He wanted to jump, skinny Chicago kid. He slapped on his dark glasses, raised the trombone to his lips alone in the bar, and went “Baugh!” Then he rushed out after them. They wouldn’t let him play with them, just like the sandlot football team in back of the gas tank. “All these guys live with their grandmothers just like Tom Snark and our Carlo Marx alto,” said Dean. We rushed after the whole gang. They went to Anita O’Day’s club and there unpacked and played till nine o’clock in the morning. Dean and I were there with beers.”

Now that is some good damn writing. It might not be grammatically correct, I wrote it exactly as is, but it sure as hell is vivid. Could you feel the rhythm? Scary, isn’t it? Classic.

But even that isn’t the most profound effect this book has had on me. No, all of that pales in comparison to the theme – freedom. What I wouldn’t give to be able to hitchhike to Denver, riding on the back of a flatbed pickup truck, drinking a $4 bottle of whiskey with hobos from God only knows where, hearing every one of their life’s adventures and tribulations. To be in some small, pointless town in Arkansas with only a few dollars in my pocket and needing to figure out a way to get to New York. These are the things, the adventures that would make life interesting; so much more than my boring nine to five job. Every day would be something you’ve never seen or experienced, someone you wouldn’t soon forget. Oh, how I long for the open road.

Alas, I’m stuck, just like most of us are. Bills to pay, jobs to work, responsibilities to tend to. And besides, what idiot would even consider hitchhiking in today’s world? No one wants to pick you up, and there are way too many people you don’t want to be picked up by. You can’t go to the nearest travel bureau and find someone who needs a ride and is willing to help pay for gas. You can’t get stuck in that little Arkansas town and sleep under the tree on the church’s front lawn until you somehow scrounge up the money for a bus ticket. You can’t find a hotel that will let you rent a room for a week on credit. The America that Jack Kerouac knew is dead, which makes the book almost seem like a sad fairy tale, telling of a land far far away where hobos are good and strangers are kind.

Although the world of hitchhiking and doing the dishes in lieu of payment at a restaurant might be over, this book is still inspiring to me. It has really made me want to get out and see the world, the country that we live in.

In August I’ll be freed from one debt, quite a hefty debt really, and with the extra money I’ll have, I’m going to try to start making little road trips at least once a month as long as the weather stays nice. I can’t do much on the two days of the weekend, nor on the amount of money we’re talking about here, but I’ll go as far as I can and still make it back in time for work on Monday. I might make plans, I might not; I might have a destination in mind, I might not. Maybe I’ll visit a friend in Tennessee. Maybe I’ll just take I-70 as far as I can and see where I end up. Maybe I’ll just go two hours away and see what’s in Kansas City. I don’t know. I don’t really care. I just want to get out there and see what’s what. There has to be more in this world than I’ve seen, and I want to at least experience a little of it before I’m strapped down to life even more with kids, a wife, and a mortgage.

I’m sort of starting my first road trip this weekend. Although I’ve lived in St. Louis for almost eight months now, my money situation has generally kept me from doing much spelunking of the metro area. Well, I have a little change in my pocket goin’ jinga-linga-ling and I aim to use some of it this weekend. I found a great little service that the city offers called “The Metrolink”, which is just a convenient way of saying “small train that takes you to all the cool places in town”. For $1.25 I can get downtown, to The Landing – an almost French Quarter- like district – and just about anywhere else. Best of all, there’s no driving around looking for a parking spot and I get to see some pretty amazing people on the train. Can’t ask for much more.

So, next week I should have some interesting stories or observations about our fair city of St. Louis. As I already mentioned, I will be seeing the Miles Davis thing, so that should kick some ass, but surely I’ll have more to tell from my adventures “On the Road.”

Space Monkey

P.S. If you're interested, click here to go to Amazon to pick up "On the Road" for the bargain price of $10.36.