People seem to think that because I've settled into my own place that I'm quitting touring poetry. As if I'm done with it or something.

No way, man!

I spent 10 years at shitty jobs. I learned a lot, but there was much I could have avoided. I despise "working" for companies. I took a huge risk by touring and it has stuck. It is hard, lovely work. I've watched family and friends break their backs at something they hate doing. I cannot do it. I enjoy quality labor, as long as it pays well and is beneficial to people I care about or humanity as a whole.

I never intend to get a job again. Haven't had one since July 2003. Not ever again. It could happen, but the circumstances would have to be dire. I am doing just fine. I haven't even sold merchandise at shows in six months. I feel weird sellign CDs now. I want to give away my audio online. Poetry audio is a strange beast. I dislike selling it now. I like books. I have a book coming soon. That I will sell the shit out of, but I shouldn't have to depend on it to pay rent. The gigs are good. Those and T.O.F.U. shows are progressing more and more each year.

To me, a job might as well be a four-letter word. I'll spell it jobb from now on. Work is also four-letter word, but it is all that I do. It is a good word.

I work. Hard. Very hard. I am making my way through life by talking and writing. This is my Jesus Year. 33. I intend to spend it writing a lot. Writing anything. I am not a one-form pony. Blog entries, poems, children's stories, screenplays. I wish to produce as much as possible. Hence, a move into my own domicile. A place to be productive. To make good work happen many, many times.

PLAY BY PLAY OF MOVING TO WORCESTER
I left home on December 25, after my family's traditional lasagna dinner and more present presenting. Caught a red-eye flight from San Francisco to DFW to Boston. David, Lucia, Melissa, Elaine and Maxwell all saw me off through the security check point. Probably the biggest crew of people ever to send me off. Two cars to get me and more luggage than I've ever traveled with to SFO.

When I first started flying to and from gigs, I used to fantasize about having a throng of people waiting with balloons and welcome home signs. That fantasy died the first time I actually saw someone arrive to a crowd of people doing just that. The passenger had been on the same flight with me, was probably just as tired as I was, and just wanted to get their bags and leave. All of this was then halted by way too many family and friends waiting outside of security. My fellow passenger looked annoyed. Everyone in baggage claim looked annoyed. The airport personnel was annoyed. Baggage claim is already busy enough, the last thing anyone needs there is a bunch of anyones not helping out, being sure to stand in the way of foot traffic.

RELATED TANGENT: If I am standing at a sidewalk/foot path/walkway with people, and the people I am with are in the way of someone trying to pass by, in my heart, I sort of disown them a little. It is a peeve I keep as a pet.

So, I get picked up at Logan/Boston by Mark Palos (Manchester, NH Slammaster) and McKendy, taken to Worcester where I saw my apartment for the first time, after having already agreed to take it over the phone a couple weeks earlier. Hadn't met Lenny, my landlord. Had no idea what I was getting into, other than a sizable third floor two-bedroom for a good price. Had no clue as to what condition it might be in.

Excited to see where I was going to live, Mark took me by. Saw Tony Brown and chatted with him for a bit after seeing the slight horror that was my new abode.

Had second and third thoughts, but realized that at the price I was renting out for, there would be some work to do.

Pretty gross. Definitely family-lived for many years. A family that enjoyed cooking up fried foods, but not cleaning up after the spatter and splotches of grease. Stove and surrounding wall/floor area covered in that thick, nearly impossible to scrub grease.

Living room carpet covered in old spills. Front bedroom carpet has to be pre-World War II era, with dirt to match. Back bedroom carpet just old and dirty. All windows edge-lined with mold and mildew... thick-ass mold.

Bathroom is hard to explain, but showering is an undertaking. I have to psyche myself up to get in there. Will post a photo soon. It had smelled a bit like NY Port Authority's basement suite.

Then I left for Manchester where I was featuring at Slam Free Or Die! Great show. Got to see a bunch of people. Travis Bilenski, my San José homie was visiting his girlfriend's parents nearby, so they came out to the poetry slam. Mark was nice enough to drive me back to the MacMillan's in Worcester after a traditional post-slam stop at the Red Arrow diner. Cheesy mac and beef. Holy shit. Horribly fantastic.

Spent a couple of days at the MacMillan's, primarily in the basement, where I drank coffee and surfed the net. The old tenants at my place still had until the 31st to move out and clean up. As far as I can tell, they ended up leaving most of their grime for me.

On Sunday, I featured at Poet's Asylum in Worcester. It was Bill MacMillan's 42nd birthday. HE may actually be the answer to the universe. The show was fantastic. I was very pleased with my feature.

At some point prior to my feature, Bill and I went down to a local furniture store and I purchased a new twin bed, box-spring and frame. No head board. Never been one for head boards. Cyndi Keely took me to Target where I purchased various kitchen, bathroom and bedroom items.

Bill (javabill on LJ) has been a fucking trooper. He and his son Liberty brought me over to my place with paint and cleaners in tow on January 1st. We immediately got to work, shifting stuff, cleaning stuff, scrubbing stuff, scouring stuff, deodorizing stuff, decontaminating stuff, and what not. Lenny stopped by and I finally got to see why everyone spoke so well of him. Bill, Sou and Liberty had lived on the first floor for many years. Tony Brown (radioactiveart on LJ) and Missy now lived there. Prior to me on the third floor there had been various people connected with the New England spoken word scene in some fashion.

On Thursday, I went to Greyhound to pick up the six boxes I shipped from home. They made it with minimal damage, aside from some sort of spillage on the outside of most of them. It looked like blood. Bill said soda. I say blood. I'll go with soda, it feels better.

Seriously, if one needs to ship large boxes across a great distance, look into Greyhound. They recommended http://www.busfreighter.com. I went to the site, paid online, brought 300 pounds in six boxes to Greyhound in San José, they left on December 26, arrived at Worcester Greyhound on December 29. THREE DAYS, $175.00. They weren't due until January 1st. Actually, they sat there for a few days. There was some confusion on their part, but it all worked out. Ended up paying a $2.00 storage fee that started up after three days. $2.00... I wipe my ass with $2.00.

If you do use BusFreighter.com, note that you must print out your shipping labels from the site itself. I did not know this, dropped off my boxes, they told me, I didn't have time, sent the labels via email to my friend Lucia. She took them to Greyhound. No problem.

I have most of what I own here in Worcester now. None of my sports collection. None of my own furniture, which consists of some shelving and two night stands in storage back in Silicon Valley.

Weird coincidences in my new place:

–First two coins I found were from my birth year, 1976.
–The stove's brand name is Magee.
–The outside/porch closet still houses personal items from a former tenant and fellow touring poet. Upon surveying the the space, I notice a sweet, tiny ice chest. Inside were various CDs of spoken word and music. On top: two worn copies of my third album, Mike McGee For Mayor.
–Lots of threes.
–Upon acquiring free paint for my place, Bill was able to get a light teal and a fantastic orange. Teal is the color of the San José Sharks. Orange is the color of Miké McGéé.

My fridge is now stocked with Guinness. That's all so far.

Just before heading over to start The Cleanup 2009, I finished the 2nd draft of In Search of Midnight. Turns out that fellow Write Bloody poet and Worcester resident, Lea Deschenes will be laying out the book! Weee!

Bill, Liberty and I got through quite a bit of work the first day. I had set up my bed in what I thought would be my bedroom, but I am flip flopping. One is big and bright due to the fact that my house faces the sunset. The other is dark and quieter. Not sure where to put my office. I have a fucking office! Well, not yet, but I will.

On Friday, Ann (djmuse on LJ) came by with lamps and pumpkin pie. Rushelle Frazier came by for a visit. Tony poked his head in to see the progress. On Saturday, Heather MacPherson came over as Bill finished painting the living room orange. She was armed with skillets (one which contained a stove top apple pie, yum!) and various kitchen items. I was clearing off and organizing left-over junk on the porch. She brought in a weathered table and scrubbed it. It now elevates my stereo, which has been tuned to 92.9FM for three days, non-stop until this morning.

I need to remind people that I cannot eat pies. I just got here and Im going to go into a diabetic coma if people bring more sweets. No worries, I've only had two bites of each. I am giving them away to Tony's and Bill's refrigerators.

My sleep schedule has been very awkward. Generally working on my apartment at all hours, only to get absolutely exhausted by early evening, fall asleep, then wake up fully rested at 2:00 AM, only to begin cleaning again. Yesterday morning I cut and pulled the carpet out of the living room, I cleared out the porch. I washed most of the kitchen, except for the floor. Bill had started painting the "office." Lenny came by and took away the old carpet. We chatted a bit. He likes me. I like him. I smelled bacon emanating from Tony and Missy's place. They called and invited me down for breakfast!

By afternoon, I finished most of what I wanted to do. I relaxed and got a shower (ack.) I was all ready for Poet's Asylum, when exhaustion hit again. I sat on the love-seat Cowboy Matt brought over on Friday and crashed. Bill called to see if I wanted a ride, but I could not function, so I stayed home and slept through until 2:00 AM again.

I now own a bed, yet I am still sleeping on couches. Er.

So I got up this morning and made coffee in my tiny, $10.00 4-cup coffee maker. Cleaned more. Sorted old tenant recycling. Removed the rotting wooden toilet seat (to be replaced by the new plastic one Tony picked up for me at the home and hardware store yesterday.) I ate some fruit and left-over cheese pizza. Cleaned, cleaned, cleaned, cleaned.

I don't want to deal with the carpet in the "office" yet. I just want it to disappear. Vaporize. Vamoose. Vanish. I will have to wait.

I rounded up my laundry and headed down to the MacMillan's basement (1/10th of a mile from my driveway) where I am currently waiting for my clothes to dry. Cyndi Keely is sitting, cozed-up with her MacBook on the couch as I write this at the table where we play Texas Hold Em, Monopoly and Scrabble on the weekends.

This feels like home.

All I need now are coffee tables, shelving, a new shower curtain, and some throw rugs. Maybe some dish-ware, but I am in no rush just yet. A baking pan, cookie sheet or casserole dish will be required, eventually.

Slowly, but surely, I am home.

People have asked, "Why Worcester?" I've been repeating the same things to most of these queries, but in retrospect, the best answer I can give at this point is, "Why not?" It would all be the same anywhere else. This shift is right for this period of my life. I needed something and this is what that something looked like. I didn't know it until this past week, but now it really feels right. I wrote a rent check on January 2, 2009. The last one I wrote was in 2005. Thankfully, my place looked much better when I wrote it. I didn't have to question what I was paying for. It's becoming mine.

I am a very sentimental human being. I like that about me. I am a homebody whose body hasn't been home in a while. I feel better. Really, really better.

Now I head off to New York with Tony Brown. Tonight I feature at Bar 13, then the Bowery Poetry Club tomorrow night.

If you're around, I'm a round.
–––––––––
Word to the nerd.