Letter from mom:
Phew! Thanks for letting me know you’ve got food. Seriously, I’ve been wracked with some weird “beyond-my-control-child-is-far-away-and-I-can’t-feed-them” illness for days. I know you’re a big grown up with your own resources, on top of which you’ve got two lovers who would probably give you grocery money, or at least a good dinner, but I will probably never get over the innate need to feed you. It’s the animal in me, I guess.
I washed your car today, and took it out on a nice little run about town. Damn, that thing is fun to drive, and it’s so stylish and cute when it’s clean! I was pissed that Noah lost my ipod charger somewhere, and killed the battery on my ipod using it last week, because the radio was sucking in many different languages today. The shit they were playing on KSFR and KUNM, which is normally just some kind of jazz, ranging between crap and greatness, was, during my hour of listening enjoyment, a mix of out of control vomit. It was a fire hose of puke, and I don’t mean that in a good way. It wasn’t some bebop noise or silverware drawer music, which I like, it was white people trying to sing the blues with fake Mississippi accents, talking about their guitars being “women.” Fuck! They couldn’t even play their guitars, and their lyrics were as stupid as can be. It’s a good thing I hadn’t eaten lunch, or I would have lost it. And when they weren’t playing that shit, it was the BBC news, (Horrors from Around the World), or the local news where they read the front page of the New Mexican to us for ten minutes. Not only that, I made the mistake of thinking I could drive down Cerrillos Road and actually get to my destination, (Artisan). But, as we like to say around here, “you can’t get there from here.” That whole side of Cerrillos Rd. is a big pile of dirt, and there’s no left or right turn allowed.
It’s fun to rant about the amazingly small inconveniences of our little city. They don’t amount to a hill of beans, which of course, is what’s for dinner.
I love you,