South of the border at cloud level
The first time I met John and Cayce, I was wearing green body paint that covered my face and limbs, with a hideous long, black wig that hung in scraggly strands down my tight, white T-shirt and shorts so tiny that to get into them I had to have my friend, Genevieve, pull them on for me, cutting them with scissors, then pulling them up, then cutting a little more, then pulling them up again, until they had finally cleared my hips and I could just barely button them. It was Halloween 2008 and I was dressed as the Incredible Hulkette at a party hosted by my friend, Steve, in Mexico, and John and Cayce were there, too, dressed, I believe, as pirate and maiden. After that, we would run into each other whenever they came down on vacation but it was not until I visited them in their Colorado mountain home a few days ago that I actually got to know them. We laughed about this after we had been hanging out for a little while— that before I had arrived with Rennie to stay for two nights, we had all separately been aware of the fact that we really did not know each other very well at all.
What’s in a name? A lot.
I’m in Nashville, staying with my friends, Ashley & Josh. I have three sets of friends here, actually, but one is out of town and the other is busy, so I am with Ashley & Josh for the entire three nights, which is pretty swell, since I have not seen Ashley in nine years and had not met her husband, Josh, before this past Sunday. They were both working today, though, which gave me a lovely morning to catch up on writing and after about four and a half hours of that, I took their dog, Lincoln, out for a walk to clear my head. We ended up at this gorgeous green space in the ritzy Belle Meade neighborhood and we tromped around the woods for about an hour and a half, which gave me plenty of time to think— namely about names.
Take Lincoln, for example. When Josh was growing up, his family had a dog named Gorbachev and Ashley thought that was very cool, so when she and Josh adopted a dog together three years ago, Ashley suggested they name him after another world leader, which is how a goofy, black dog came to inherit the surname of our 16th president. But if you ask me, it suits him. Did you see his regal stare in the photo above? Read more
It’s like déjà vu but with a different car and no dog. And it’s spring, not summer.
Remember when I started this trip back in August of last year, and I went to see my friend, Chad, and we played Yahtzee and painted my kitchen table red and took Rennie hiking, during which Rennie tried to swim for the first time? Well, I’m back in Chattanooga, visiting Chad again. It’s my first stop in the new Facebook Project vehicle, which seems sort of appropriate, since it was my first stop in Roxanne. And did I really just spell that one out for you? Yes, I did. So, while I’m at it: did you notice the above picture is mimicking the Roxie on a Slant shot that I took last time I was here? And did you see that this time it’s called No-Name on a Slant? That’s because I want to call my new set of wheels Jeffrey, the reasoning being that while I am not particularly fond of the moniker for any poetic reasons, it’s a solid name that conveys a man of trust, honor and virtue, which is something I could use about now. But Chad is protesting violently, saying that it’s obvious that I am choosing one of the more boring names in life, simply because I am afraid of choosing something more daring, for fear it will bring bad luck upon me. So what if that’s my story? My wheels flew off. I have the right to be suspicious. Or superstitious. Or timid and trembling.
Still, naysaying aside, I’m going to drive ole what’s-his-face around for a few more days before I officially christen him, and whatever I do end up calling him, it will most definitely be a man’s name, because I’m tired of these bitchy females and their uppity whims and fancies.