On the 50th anniversary of On the Road, we drove up to Lowell today and had a lovely lunch at La Boniche, sat a spell in a little cafe and listened to a chapter of "On the Road" read aloud, then ventured (driving in Lowell is always a venture/adventure) to the Bottt Cotton Mills Museum to look at the famous Kerouac scroll. Nice exhibit with lots of Kerouac memorabilia and it was good to see several generations looking at everything. I bought a new copy of On the Road, mine having disappeared somewhere between college and now.
Jack was such a fine looking man, and Lowell was his town. Still is. Beautiful early September day. We do need rain, but the sky was cloudless, a deep fall-is-in-the-air blue.
Long, long ago there was a coffee house in Houston called the Outside, and when you joined (for a buck), they issued a membership card stating that for all time you were a member of "The Outside." There were poetry readings and the smell of weed in the air, and once a big carload of Beatniks arrived from Mexico City which livened the evening up considerably. There was a black drummer called King George who played oil drums, and sometimes I would see him in Galveston, still drumming. I thought a bit about being a member of the Outside, which of course I still am, as is anyone who ponied up a dollar. I have always thought alienation was a good thing. Otherwise, what century would you be living in?
Raise your wine or beer or whiskey glass to Jack tonight, and remember your first road trip.
Grapeshot
Jack was such a fine looking man, and Lowell was his town. Still is. Beautiful early September day. We do need rain, but the sky was cloudless, a deep fall-is-in-the-air blue.
Long, long ago there was a coffee house in Houston called the Outside, and when you joined (for a buck), they issued a membership card stating that for all time you were a member of "The Outside." There were poetry readings and the smell of weed in the air, and once a big carload of Beatniks arrived from Mexico City which livened the evening up considerably. There was a black drummer called King George who played oil drums, and sometimes I would see him in Galveston, still drumming. I thought a bit about being a member of the Outside, which of course I still am, as is anyone who ponied up a dollar. I have always thought alienation was a good thing. Otherwise, what century would you be living in?
Raise your wine or beer or whiskey glass to Jack tonight, and remember your first road trip.
Grapeshot
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment
Your comments are always welcome!