I’ve not been very successful in finding a mouth wide enough for my next grid. I photographed Dean twice already, and even with my new extension tube, couldn’t get quite close enough. Ted has recommended a friend to me, who in college used to brag about the large bottles and such that he could accomodate, but he has some sort of flu-like thing, and so I must wait out his illness. I’m so consumed by this idea that I’m finding it difficult to move forward on a new piece. Does anyone out there have a really big mouth? Surrounded by fur? Call me…
Tonight the parental units come to visit. Oh my god, I forgot to tell you, my brother Mark and his wife, Keith, had a baby, a serene and beautiful little girl, named Cassady Blue, in keeping with Keith’s family tradition of naming the girls after boys. (Keith’s mom’s name is Joe, “Joe Mama.”) Mom and Dad will be here for a week, so get ready for tales of sibling wierdness.
Ted is trying to make me more outdoorsy. I’ve been hiking and running, and next comes skiing and biking. Could you imagine? I am a card-carrying sissy. I just want to hear about people breaking legs on the slopes, and pass in my car those guys in those stupid black biking shorts biking UP (??) Mount Tamalpais. Someone help! Or send me a stand-in. In theory, Ted is supposed to accompany me to some sort of cultural event/activity for balance. Really, I’d rather be in a museum on a sunny day, or passed out in a field in Sonoma County after wine tasting and sex.
Which reminds me, we were talking last night about facades, while dining at the fine Firewood Cafe, and questioning authenticity and gay identity. When lesbians who dress up like little gay dudes were brought up, or maybe it was lesbians who call themselves “bears” and dress up in boots and plaid shirts were brought up, I forget which, and accused of not being authentic, adopting the look and sexual persona of “another,” I blurted out that I feel a sense of estrangement and amusement every time I go to the Lone Star for precisely the same reason, wondering if the appropriation of stripped-down blue-collar masculinity is accompanied by any sense of irony? I hear a lot of bears say, “Anyone can be a bear, it’s about a sensibility,” which I think really means that you, too, could dress up like one. It’s all about what we wear, isn’t it?
Which reminds me, my daphnes are blooming right now. For the next few weeks, I will roam through my garden and weep gently and happily as the most intoxicating fragrance this side of a sweating man wafts through my larger-than-average nostrils and hits some kind of deeply hidden nerve center connected directly to Mount Olympus. Come sniff with me, and be my love…
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