Wednesday…
I’m on the plane from Dallas to Birmingham, zipping across the south to visit with my parents. The flight’s not full at all–who goes to Birmingham in August? The plane to Dallas was jam-packed, and the guy with the hairiest forearms in Texas sat right next to me. His elbows extended slightly into my space, and my arm, moving up and down due to my accelerated breathing, gently brushed against his furriness. He was wearing shorts, too, and had gorgeous thick brown tree-trunk legs covered in blonde fur. I didn’t look at the rest of him. I didn’t need the rest of him. I was suddenly relieved that I hadn’t brought my first reading choice, I Love Dick, by Chris Kraus, and could hide behind less-suggestive titles. Instead I read about the more appropriate bonobos, ape cousins of the chimpanzees–distinct from chimps with their smaller heads, dominant females, easy-going peaceful nature, and frequent and incessant copulation.
I met a few really interesting fellows last week: one a corporate executive in New York with tattoos that you can barely see under his dense body hair; the other an artist bodybuilder who sells a “product” that sounds a lot like steroids; another guy whose moniker is something close to “largeorganedbottom” who sounds too good to be true; and about three guys who are all the same age, with the same look, jobs, dispositions, and male-pattern baldness. I’d love to take the last three out on a reality-series type date where a panel of Coco Libido Specialists eliminates two for me.
On the plane I’ve been catching up on not only the apes, but also the problem and history of spam, Gustave Courbet, honey bees, and Gerald and Sara Murphy. You know, there’s a major die-out of bees that’s been going on, with whole colonies of honey bees just disappearing. They call it Colony Collapse Disorder, and the bees that have been examined seem to have something like Bee AIDS, their entire immune system wrecked as scores of parasites, mites, and viruses attack their whole system. There aren’t a lot of pollinators like bees, who’ll go for just about any flower. Our entire (commercial) food chain depends on them. I love bees. The males are just around to mate, then after being tolerated by the female workers, are systematically destroyed by them.
I am arrived. It is hot. At 10pm the temperature is 100 degrees. My cute little mommy made salmon patties, salad, and miniature low-fat strawberry cheesecakes for me! It’s hot as hell, but I’m in heaven!
Thursday…
Today I spent the afternoon with James, my total-queen high school buddy. They don’t make queens like they do in the south. His house is Fabu-Chic White Trash, all the walls different saturated colors, whimsical thrift shop furniture and paintings everywhere. He even has a complete Avon after-shave chess set. He lives in Adamsville, which is about a 40 minute drive from my parents’ house. In the absence of markers like rivers or town grids, I never know which way is north or south, just which road leads to which road, which ‘dale is next to which ‘ville. The countryside was absolutely beautiful, lush rolling hills and bright green kudzu. On the way to Adamsville I listened to country music turned up real loud. …two peas in a po-od—me and Go-od… I listen to country music unironically here, and feel the sincerity behind all the Jesus-loving and wife-cheating.