Everyone who writes into the internet late at night, at some point wonders: why am I doing this? What’s the point? If you wonder long enough, you either stop doing it or you keep going.
I guess I’ll keep going.
— Chris Locke
Dean called me tonight about Rageboy’s latest posts. I was brewing a cup of gingko tea. Beth was laughing from the other room. She thought it would be putrid. She thought memory wasn’t worth it. Dean suggested I add a little ginger. I remembered some frozen ginger in the freezer. Beth called out that it was probably dessicated. I pawed through piles of frozen carrots, peas, a trout, something that might have been a hamhock intended for some antediluvian soup, no ginger. It came to me that there was probably powdered ginger in the spice cabinet. Voila. Or Voici. Or whatever.
Dean never sings in the shower but singing he was this afternoon: “Love Potion Number Nine.” Toweling off naturally he turned on the nearest monitor and saw a message from RB titled… you guessed it. Synchronicity, or spooky shit?
Fucking Rageboy. he’s writing about a ditty that has nanana lyrics and the top nanana song of all time embeds itself in my brain. I don’t think the gingko had anything to do with this. RB cops out and says it’s all “Hey Jude,” but deep down I hear some screaming horns and wild people singing NAHHHH NAH_NAH_NAH_NAHHH NAH_NAH_NAH_NAH NAH_NAH_ NAH_NAH_NAH_NAH, NAH_NAH_NAH_NAH_NAH. That’s not Hey Jude. Hey Jude is candy-ass nananana. This shit is some hard core. I sang a few bars. Beth says back in the day we danced to it. But no name for the nahnahs, she has no name.
The first hard frost all the gingko leaves will fall at once. Another year will have slipped by and my gingko experiment will again be incomplete. Dean starts in on patronizing a farm stand far out in the country where in the good old days when his pancreas was up to it they would buy gallons of organic honey. Of course my phone has a camera so maybe he saw me reaching for the honey when he started in on that, but somehow I doubt it. My phone doesn’t work like that. I was wondering how to get the honey out of the bottom down into the plastic nozzle. Beth says nuke it. Dean says just set it in the teakettle a minute. I shook it like a foool and squeezed so hard I thought the bottle would break. I’m sure I saved some time using my method.
RB is back. I don’t know, maybe it was the gingko…