So. I just got up from the breakfast table and both my nerves and my ADHD are in a jumble. Gram somehow captured a political science major from Texas A&M, a senior and an officer in the Aggie Corps. The Corps in Aggie Land is the elite ROTC dealie, or whatever it is the military calls what ROTC used to be. I haven’t kept up with any of that shit since I was rejected for military service myself.
We had quite a crew at the big breakfast counter. Gram was bragging to her new temporary boyfriend that I’m a famous blogger; Aunt Hilda was arguing with her permanent boyfriend, a shrunken head in a mahogany box; Dixie was home for a visit to evaluate Squirt’s progress with mixing too many languages into one sentence; and SAC Ellen was sitting at the end of the big granite breakfast counter taking it all in with a smile. Streaker Jones was busy at the stove top preparing his specialty, Indian corn cakes.
The corn cakes are crispy and dense little patties that he grills with clarified butter. Mother has placed a dozen bottles of homemade jellies and preserves on the table and I put out some maple syrup we get from a place right on the US and Canadian border. Plain or slathered with condiments, either way the cakes are a hit.
Our relationship has been mostly settled for a week or so, and SAC Ellen spent last night here with me. She doesn’t like sleeping here all that much because Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry spend the night snoring and farting and fighting in the closet. My gay pig and ostrich are a cute couple in that Abbot and Costello sort of way. Funny but a pain in the ass.
I’m still trying to get them to come out of the closet, but I’m out of logical reasons to use to persuade them. Maybe it’s time to go illogical, use some thought process of my giant bird’s namesake, the Texas governor. Like when Rick Perry, governor, carries a girlie handgun to protect himself when he runs, while under the armed protection of his security detail.
Anyway, the college boy is holding up pretty well. He’s Hispanic and his name is Robert after dropping the “o” for convenience, he says, and he seemed to be a smart thinker. Strong family values and a heavy dose of God and Country seem to be his guidance systems.
And don’t even start with any of that, “Well if those are his values, what the fuck is he doing with your Gram,” bullshit. Show me the first college aged boy who can ignore any woman in a bright red Ferrari and I’ll show you a eunuch.
Gram’s potions provide additional reductions in resistance.
Anyway, Gram pulls up the Mooner Johnson blog on her laptop and shows it to Robert. Robert turns out to be a speed reader and he blows through the last ten postings, and whatever comments show, in just a couple minutes.
When he looked up from the computer, the young man said to me, he said, “Well, Mr. Johnson, it appears that you have finally attracted a mature, straight-thinking reader. But who is this Reckmonster person, and what about her waiting to be your twelfth wife?”
“Oh, that’s an Internet admirer with whom I joke a little.” I tried to sound flippant and casual.
“Why did that make you nervous, Mr. Johnson, it was a simple question.”
I adjusted my thinking about this Aggie in my kitchen. “Are you in pre-law, Robert?” I asked him.
“Yes, sir,” he answered. “I’m taking an advanced course in witness interrogation and we have an assignment to practice when we think we detect someone avoiding a subject. You seem to be unsettled when I bring up the subject of the Reckmonster, Mr. Johnson. Would you mind telling those of us gathered here this morning why that is?”
Little shitball. I responded with, “Look, you little shitball, let’s start this inquisition with you explaining how you explain spending the night sexing with my grandmother within the contexts of your religion, family and Corps values. How do you justify your deviant behavior, tell us that.” I know I told you guys to give the kid a break, but he started this.
“Well,” he began to answer but was stopped cold. SAC Ellen had risen from her stool and was giving the side of my head a laser-heated glare.
“No, Mister Johnson, answer the man’s question.” My lover’s words were cold-hot bullets.
Now I’m sitting alone at my computer with the swirling swill that is my thoughts. Maybe that should be swirling swills for thoughts. I’m not especially worried about SAC Ellen, she’ll forgive me my transgressions. What really bugs me is this. I’m wondering how it is that I can love my country for most of the same reasons as Theo and share many of the same sentiments as him, and yet I feel such a distance from him philosophically.
Really, howthefuck can that be?
How can he and I both value education yet seem so far apart on funding for education? I sense that we each think a man needs to take responsibility for protecting the weak among us but I feel at polar opposites with him on what that means.
I’m too fucking busy now to worry about my convictions. I’m trying to get my book to the publisher and my webber and bloggie site is a total mess. I’m trying to find a fixer-upper guy to fix things, but so far nobody wants to tackle it.
Makes me want to responsibly drink Carta Blanca beer.