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MONDAY, 18 SEPTEMBER, 2000, DURHAM, NORTH CAROLINA |
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I specifically asked yesterday that y’all wish me godspeed through the Carolinas. Now look where I am. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Actually, the trip to N’awlins is going swimmingly. The 7 or 8 hour drive from Philly down into North Carolina simply flew by thanks to my merry passenger, Micha, who always manages to keep everything lively. I have no tape deck nor CD player in my car. To some people, this thought may cause shudders of horror, but I would have it no other way, for when driving through “Deliverance” country, one really ought tune in to local broadcasts. Through Maryland and Washington, we found a good old fashioned evangelical station running a talk programme called: “Homosexuality: a Case of Mistaken Identity.” Which was frightening. And so twisted that my face and stomach still ache from laughter. “Peter told us that all we need to do is ask the lord to be healed and so shall we be.” Tee hee. Poor homosexuals. We learned yesterday that even if they think they’re in a wholesome, fulfilling relationship, it’s a lie from Satan (saucy Satan!), and they only need to attend this wacky bitch’s bible study which she conducts from her living room — or to have the foresight of having a loving relative who will pray on their behalf. Heard a moving testimonial about a lesbian cop who didn’t feel “right” about her plight and was in the midst of a “struggle.” She felt like she didn’t “fit in.” As a dyke cop? I can think of nothing more “common.” Later, in Richmond, Virginia, we were shopping around on the tuner and landed on a Xmas song. What the fuck? It’s mid-September. Xmas is coming earlier and earlier every year I tell ya’. The song ended and we heard the jingle of the station identification sing, “Santa ninety-three point wunnnnnn! Where it’s christmas every dayeeeeee…” Stunned speechless, we listened to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Have Yourself a M.L.X., I’m Dreaming of a White Xmas, and on and on, each song punctuated by the programme manager pleading that we ring him up and tell him what we think of his new station. Any readers in the Richmond area, do let me know if 93.1 FM continues to tout itself as the Santa Station. We jotted down the number. Will certainly be calling in soon to voice our 2¢: “You’re fucking brill! It’s like a drunken fantasy you have with your friends at the bar. ‘Dude! If I owned a radio station, it would be, like, 365 days of fuckin’ Christmas’. ‘Cept this is fantasy turned to reality.” Speaking of reality, my ass is as sore as a drunken fag sailor’s. It’s that driving all day thing. More adventure tomorrow. |
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TUESDAY, 19 SEPTEMBER, 2000, ATHENS, GEORGIA |
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Ah. Short day. Durham, NC to Athens, GA (6 or 7 hours) to stay with my old chum Lilith in her lovely rural château surrounded by woods and weiner-dogs and to enjoy an actual home-cooked mealypooh. Thanks, Lit-Lit! Here are some funny things we saw today: In High Springs, NC: “Biscuitville!” Somewhere else in NC: JR’s outlet store which had erected about a hundred billboards for 90 miles in either direction. Among other things, they promise: “Zillionza Towels” and “Books & Gizmos” and “Largest Cigarettes” and “Largest Fragrances” and, my personal fave, “Linens up the Wazoo!” (Like the magic never-ending hanky trick. Ouch!) A printed license plate that promoted the “Carolina Game Cock.” Greenville, SC: “Kamper Klub”. No, really. Or, when driving past a field of cows, either I or Micha will shout, “Hey look! Pigs!” or “Sheep!” or “Elk!” or “Frogs!” or “Kittens!” (Guess you had to be there for that one.) And one for Badjuju, direct from Fair Play, South Carolina: “Dad’s Restaurant — Southern Cookin’ Makes You Good Lookin’.” Considering the obesity problem in the south, this is a flammable statement. After two days of driving, and another long day to New Orleans tomorrow, I have composed another brilliant poam. Goes a little like this. (And a-one. And a-two…) ROADTRIP Thank you. Thank you and goodnight.  |
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