The jig’s up!: I don’t live in China. I’ve been staying in a cardboard box shantytown in central Jersey since August. Gristle is actually the name of a marmot I’ve befriended to whom I’ve attributed the characteristics of various drifters and song-and-dance men who’ve passed through over the last 7 months. Gus is a volleyball. I grew a beard. Very excited about where life is taking me!
Things have been a little slow around here because I’ve been spending more time with Gristle, trying to teach him German, house train him, and protect him from marmot poachers, who would kill him for his pelt and sweetbreads (a common additive in lipstick, hair conditioner, and marmot musk perfume). Actually, April fools!, Gristle is a person, but, not April fools!, I really have been spending a fair amount of time with him this week. I have a couple of posts kicking around in the hopper out back, behind the cardboard city and bindle collection, so Guangzhou Story posting should resume shortly. Thanks for waiting.
To tide you over, a text message I got today from Gristle:
Trans: How do you spell “foot fetish”?
I don’t know why he wanted to know. Somewhere out there, right now, even as you read this, perhaps, there is an English speaking man or woman reading something that Gristle wrote about foot fetishism, and you should be glad it’s not you — or, if it is you, you should ask yourself what you’re doing, why you’re there, and how you feel about the life choices that brought you to this (you can try asking him, but he won’t answer you; he’s a marmot).