During the 2 hours that it took to drive out of Brooklyn and onto the highways leading to Route 17 and up to Liberty, NY, the four of us in the car shared a few joints and, while driving, Joe's co-worker also drank a can of beer.
But, during the middle of the highway drive up to Liberty, NY, Joe's co-worker suddenly became nauseous, drove his car slowly into the highway's break-down lane, got out of the car, vomited for a minute or two, and then quickly returned to his car's driver's seat and continued to drive up the highway towards Liberty, NY.
Yet before the car reached Liberty, NY, however, Joe persuaded his co-worker to stop off at one of the campsites in the Catskill Mountains, around Monticello, so, while we were passing through the area, could check out what the scene there was like.
And what we soon discovered, after driving around one of the campsites, was that the campsite was overcrowded with a lot of culturally-straight families who had parked their oversized campers next to the oversized campers of other culturally-straight families. So that the campsite resembled a New York City street or highway traffic jam in the country filled with similar-looking campers, rather than cars.
Then, while laughing and still high on pot after our brief visit to the campsite, Joe's co-worker soon drove his car and us away from the campsite and again continued driving up the road towards Liberty, New York.
But by the time the four of us arrived at the summer house in the country of the social service professional who had "invited" Joe and his Joe's co-worker/colleague to spend some time on the weekend there, it was nighttime. And after Joe knocked on the front door of the house, the white upper middle-class liberal social service profession who had extended him the invitation to visit answered the door and seemed surprise to see that Joe had followed up so quickly on his invitation, by showing up that same night.
And, after entering the house's living room and standing there for a few minutes, Joe and the rest of us were quickly led back out of the house, through the front door by Joe's social service professional colleague, to the front yard and then into a barn that was located around 15 yards to the right side of the house. And then, we were quickly told that the four of us could sleep on the hay loft there that night.
Apparently what had happened was that Joe's co-worker, who lived in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn and was also a friend of a member of the 1970s Movement-oriented rock band, The Human Condition, which a late 1960s and early 1970s former Newsreel radical left filmmaking group member, named Bev, had organized (after she had left Newsreel and decided to focus more on becoming a revolutionary socialist Movement singer-songwriter and rock band leader, who sang in a bluesy way that reminded one of how Janis Joplin had sung in the late 1960s).
And for some reason, despite having apparently casually invited Joe and Joe's co-worker colleague at some point to spend part of a summer weekend crashing at the upper middle-class social worker colleague's summer country home, the white upper-middle-class professional social worker colleague at the Staten Island Drug Addiction medical health care center of Joe's wasn't eager to allow Joe, Joe's co-worker, the brother of Joe's co-worker and me--all of whom weren't part of the U.S. liberal professional upper middle-class like he was--mingle or perhaps share a joint or get drunk with the 1970s radical left musicians he was allowing to use his inherited summer home as their place to hand-out in and practice at during the summer.
So naturally, when Joe, Joe's co-worker, the brother of Joe's co-worker and I were in the barn along with each other, sharing a joint and preparing to get ready to stretch out and sleep there in our clothing for the night, the brother of Joe's co-worker quickly blurted out: "He seemed to want to get us out of his house right away, as if we weren't good enough to hang out there."
And Joe, Joe's coo-worker and I generally agreed, right before, Joe jokingly said, "I wish I had some heroin on me to inject right now," prior to everyone else in the barn now agreeing with Joe.
To be fair to Bev (who had apparently noticed how quickly her band's host had pushed out of his summer house and into his barn when we arrived there late on the previous evening), she appeared inside the barn the following morning, in a white bathroom, to make sure we were awake by then; and to let the four of us know that there was some breakfast leftovers in the house for us to eat, if we felt like it. And, if I recall correctly, I think the four of us, who were already awake when Bev appeared in the barn, quickly walked back to the house and grabbed a few bites of the breakfast leftovers.
Then, before Joes co-worker started to drive the car of his back to New York City later that morning, I can recall joining Joe, Joe's co-worker, and Joe's co-worker's brother in tossing a football that was previously left on the grass , in front of the upper-middle-class professional social worker colleague at their workplace's house, to each other for around 10 minutes.
And, during the ten minutes of tossing around the football, Bev seemed to remember who I was and walked up to me, smiled and said, "Great to see you're O.K.;" before then quickly walking back into the house there, in a way which seemed to indicate she had no particular further interest in conversing with me.
Despite the fact that three years before I had once advised Bev, in a letter to her, that it might make much more political sense for her to get more into being a singer-songwriter radical feminist musician than just working as a Movement organizer for a Newsreel left documentary filmmakers group which (in the absence of then having access to some kind of mass media distribution way of airing its films) was not likely to be able to create enough revolutionary feminist consciousness in the 1970s among U.S. working-class people that would be required for creation of a revolutionary feminist and democratic socialist society in the USA.
No comments:
Post a Comment