(Cue the heavy metal guitars)
Of course my idea of being a gleeful lawbreaker sometimes involves spending the bulk of the day sitting in one place, cutting out bits for geiger counters in a trancelike state.
I still do the occasional gig for Geiger Counter Guy, which is where I went today after morning shit-shoveling. He needed some parts made, he’d told me. Yeah. Open up one of his machines (not recommended) and you’ll see a whole bunch of little foam rubber rectangles. Very important. Essential, in fact. But those little rectangles started life as 17-foot-long strips of insulation, and this old guy right here is responsible for converting them into their final forms. With a pair of scissors. For hour after hour. My hand hurts.
It beats raking, or splitting juniper, or hauling heavy things. And the building is warm. And he’s got a Sirius subscription, so I can listen to classic rock from my teens. But it is boring. And invariably, every single time, the classic rock lady plays this infuriatingly endless Peter Frampton set that I didn’t like in the seventies, either…”Do you feel like we do?” I dunno, Peter. Do you feel like tracking down a mediocre rocker and squeezing his throat until his eyeballs pop out?
I’ll make the tracking job a little easier: he lives (or at least one of his houses is) here in the Trashville area.
Wouldn’t help. The recording is out there and can’t be killed.