Friends-Only Post No. 27: Crazy, Train

GOING OFF THE RAILS

You heard the episode a-comin'

It was rolling 'round the pods

And we ain't seen a good book

Since the Night of them Crobs

We're stuck in bad book prison

And time keeps draggin' on

But the books keep on rolling 

On down to e-pi-sodes

When I was just a baby, my mama told me "Son,

Always be a good boy, don't ever make no puns."

But I'd read a book by CeeLo

Just to crack some jokes

When I hear our theme song playing

I know I'll need some tokes

I bet there's smart folks reading

Books they actually like

They're probably drinking coffee and using highlighters

Well I know I had it coming

I know I can't be free

But these assholes keep on writing

And that's what tortures me

Well if they fired me from this podcast

If that library card was mine

I bet I'd move it on a little farther down the line

In this bad books podcast

That's where I want to stay

And I'll let some actual good books

Blow my blues away ...

TRAIN DREAMS

There's something uniquely satisfying about being drunk on a train; by far the best thing about our last book was the way that satisfaction was evoked (over and over).  Not sure why it's so pleasant.  Something about being completely powerless, carried along by a seemingly unstoppable mechanism.  Makes saying "fuck it" and throwing off the reins of the only thing you do have control over a pretty reasonable option...  

Some years back, I developed a habit of running up from Portland to Vancouver for the odd long weekend.  Little train ride to the border, followed by a boring bus ride to the city, followed by angry people aggressively selling mushrooms at you as soon as you get off the bus.  (Eventually I realized I could just stop in Seattle and enjoy apples and Left Bank Books  in addition to whiskey and sitting around reading James Crumley novels.  I think it was slightly less expensive, as well.)  Anyway, when one is trying to party lonesome and on the cheap, it's a good idea to stay up all night and catch the first train out of town.  An even better idea is bringing a tall cool bottle of Diet Coke, carefully doctored with cheap bourbon so one won't be tempted by the devil in his guise of mammothly expensive bottles of beer one wouldn't enjoy for free.  Anyway, trains.  They're a track straight to depressed-good-time-town.

Even the trips back, staring down the barrel of hated labor, weren't bad.  Because they were on a train.  Even a 12-hour trip explicably lengthened to 18 by right-wing America's desperate desire to murder passenger rail in this country, even pushups on the platform in Klamath Falls, even strange vantage points into back yards in Suisun and Martinez.  All good, because on a train.

THANKS 

Anyway, thanks for reading and thanks for helping us do the show.  We've been banging out lot of shows lately -- a new one every Monday, five Mondays running! -- and we hope you like it, and it's important for you to know that we couldn't do it without you.  Stay warm, keep reading crap, don't forget to drink water and keep your eyes peeled for some crabs to ride.  'Tis, after all, the season.

--Collision for IDEOTVPOD