RAINBOW FOR AMERICA

There was a rainbow outside my window as I write this. The sky over Austin, Tx is like a high school hall way where the sun, the thick-necked line-backer bully roams freely, beating the crap out of the clouds and airplanes and me and you. Now there is rain and cloud blood. Which is rainbow.

As many of you may know, I recently moved to Austin via car. Andy and I packed up all of our stuff in his car and, pulling a rickety trailer behind us, left Gordon Street to try and MAKE IT BIG down here in Austin. BIG TIME HOLLYWOOD STARZ!

There were many things that happened. But given the attention span of the Internet reader I simply do not have time to relay them all to you. Here is a short, digestible list:

1) I Roused Michael from slumber at four in the morning and administered farewell hug. We then loaded up the trailer with stuff, speaking in hushed tones on the silent, sleeping anger of Gordon Street.

2) Two hours later a box of dinner plates were spit from our trailer and turned into dust on I-95.

3) We arrived at Jean Starling’s house. This is Andrew’s grandmother. She fed us grandmotherly foods; that is to say, food of good quality. We hung curtains for her. She referred to us on the telephone to someone, saying, “They just worked like a couple of Trojans…”

4) Eat breakfast in Nashville, TN with Andy’s Aunt and Uncle. His uncle calls people Man and Dude and I like this a lot.

5) Braved and endless number of storm-systems and truck stops. The grave and blustery weather of the American south took hold on us, thrashing our wooden trailer and blinding us again and again. Mullet men constantly asked us, “WHO SHAVED OFF YER MULLET? Y’ALL LOOK LIKE A LITTLE GIRL WITHOUT YER MULLET! FAG!”

6) Arrive in the dark neighborhood of Colorado Crossings to a large, mostly empty, suburban house made of aluminum siding and wall to wall carpet. This is the house of Josh Harris. This is the house a rainbow stretched over earlier today.

Then, later, I rode my bike around the neighborhood. This place, Colorado Crossing, is a distant outpost of suburban houses. I rode my bike through the neighborhood, passing through clouds of barbeeque smell and charcoal briquette smell. After this entry, I will write one entitled, “AMERICAN POLITICAL DIATRIBE”. This will be an essay about John McCain ripping down the dry-wall in the white house and putting up bamboo. It will be offensive. I guarantee to you here and now.