Oboes, Chicken Coups and Pureed Trains
After a late night of partying, I awoke to the peaceful sounds of my hosts in preparation for their move. I swore by the calm feeling inside of me that it was at least 11:30. Such dismay to find it was 9. In a way, it was like when i called to cancel my atuo insurance and they told me I would receive $239 back. Holla! Then the woman I spoke to told me she miscalculated. ”I’m sorry, that will be $99 back.” There is a term used by master chess players when someone moves a piece and then attempts to change their move. It’s called “tough titties, you fucking moved”. A long term mind you, but one I find would have been quite appropriate in this instance.
Last night I was happy to receive an invite from a beautiful little lass to have dinner
with her and her family. Having a home cooked meal on the road is like cat nip for gypsies. While there, she decided to give me a lesson on how to play the oboe. Mind you she’s a classically trained player who has a mini wood shop in her room for making reeds. I felt if someone was going to teach me how to make the proper embouchure, the French term used to describe the mouth position used when either blowing an oboe or a man with a scarf smoking a cigarette, she was the one.
Note the deep concentration in the facial lines. The powerful pressure on the diaphram. After looking at how I played the oboe, I imagine every chinese man that
went to an opium den should be a master.
I laugh at my own joke.
Learning to play the oboe can build up a jonesing for sugar. Fortunately the family knew this and didn’t want me pulling a Bruce Campbell by going after their daughter asking her to give me some sugar. In a preemptive strike against my hormones, they took me to the Custard Station, conveniently located next to a train station. Apparently, this is where trains that break an axle go to be put down, pureed and turned into edible goodness. Much like how horses are turned to glue. ”Mmmmmm…freight train. Glaaaaauuuuugh.”
As you can see by the undramatic picture above and to their great relief, it was open. I found myself there with a frozen cup of peanut butter custard that was labeled a “mini” but was about as mini was the single scoop salted oreo ice cream my friend Gabri got me when I was in Denver
That delicious monstrosity was taken after I had already worked on it awhile and is one of the few things I know that could make Adam Richman from Man Vs Food do a double take.
“That’s enough ice cream to go onto each piece of pie.”
Yes it is Adam. It was also enough ice cream to get me to yell “fuck it” in defeat as I chucked it into a bush, unfinished.
Later that night, just to prove I was making my way closer to the south, I ran into a chick coup that flooded my memory with thoughts of deliverance.
Perhaps if I learned dueling banjos on the oboe, I could avoid red neck gang rape. Then again, that instrument is awfully phallic.
We ended the night dancing blues to an awesome blues band whose name I never got. I just enjoyed watching a group of black women staring at my friend and I with a smile as we strutted our moves. In classic fashion, I took my shirt off while there. There is no place too good that it can’t take in one shirtless waffle.
This is my last night in St Louis. Tomorrow I start my hitchhiking journey towards Nashville. I fit my life into a pack today and decided it was a good thing I have a lot of energy or else lugging that thing around might be disheartening. I had to work on setting up my tent a few times so I didn’t get hit with a case of down syndrome while in the middle of nowhere. Getting ready to leave, I do not feel a strong sense of any emotion. Mostly just a feeling that it’s time to do this. Like starting a new job, you just buckle down, focus and learn as best you can until you get the hang of it. This will take some getting used to. Either way, it’s time for me to do this.
Starting all of this, my emotions go to the girl I fell in love with and had to let go of to continue this journey. I miss her. I have an aptitude for being a lone wolf and going my own way, but some prices are steep and hard to pay. I don’t know if I made the correct decision or not, or whether or not either exists in this case. Merely a tough decision. I have had many mixed emotions about that and it’s difficult bringing that into the start of such a profound adventure for me. We all carry baggage of some kind around. For now, this will be part of mine.
So I bid adieu. Be well St Louis and thank you for a weekend full of wonderful memories. Till we meet again..