Ant Rant

We came home a few weeks ago to a house full of ants. Ants were eating our food, drinking our beer, wearing our clothes. Ants do this. They invite themselves over and refuse to leave. They make pests of themselves. Also? They bite. They bite me, anyway. Billy says that's because I'm not patient. His theory is that ants only pester impatient people as a little reminder to them to be patient.

I guess. But the only thing I'm really impatient about right now is getting these ants out of my house. They bit Wyatt, too, our 9 year old, and he's pretty goddamn patient. He's our Charles Wallace. He can catch any animal ("Can I keep him, Mom? I already named him--I call him Angry 'cause that's what he is!") and grow any plant. Right now, we have no real yard to speak of, yet he's growing lentils, sunflowers, blackberries, dill, roses, a cactus, beets, cantaloupes, irises, basil, blueberries, aloe and a Venus fly trap.

But ants can get to anyone. They're really annoying. When the ant bit Wyatt, he yelled, "If Nature was a guy, he'd be crazy!". This from the kid who said, "Instinct is biological education". I tried telling him that the ant bit him instinctively and he answered, "Yeah, I know. I hate him."

Well, I have to say, I hate him too and I hate all his friends. I've gotten very good with my squirtgun full of Trader Zen (a Trader Joe's cleaning product that contains grain alcohol or something else I might drink, so it kills them instantly). And still they send wave after wave of little soldiers onto the battlefield of the kitchen counter -- why? Hardly anybody ever returns from these missions. Idiots.

Ryder, our 14 year old, says they must think it's some sort of insect Valhalla. That no one ever bothers to come back because it's so great there. Maybe. Idiots. At least Vikings understood that you had to die first.

And don't tell me not to hate ants. Whenever I say I hate ants, somebody tells me not to. They usually quote T.V. -- "I saw a nature special on ants once; they're very advanced. They have war...and...slavery..."

Idiots.

By the way, I heard the completed solo album for the first time last night. Nine months in the making, like a big, fat, angry baby. Joe's finished mastering it (again!) and it is brutal--in a good way. I gotta call everyone who worked on it and thank them. It's a real gift to be completely happy with a record; it almost never happens. I owe them all "five bucks and a candy bar", as Martin says.

Love,
Kristin

Hello, My Name Is Blank

What a beautiful southwestern mini tour. The Mojave desert is a golden place -- truly gold -- and the Sonoran desert is violet. Nothing like a hot wind in the middle of the night to free up the senses.

We've been missing our old desert life terribly lately and were worried that going back would hurt our feelings, but our motel in Palm Springs was upliftingly cheap and such a happy place. They play Hawaiian luau music around the clock (an addictive soundtrack -- we're still playing it in our house) and we got to hang with all the other "winners" who summer in Palm Springs (107 degrees!). Fun fact: the owners of the motel are presently doing time for murder.

We had no CD's to sell for gas money on this tour, so Billy went to a pinata store and filled party bags with little plastic doo dads, bubble gum and paper money and I signed "Hello, My Name Is ..." blank name tags. We threw all this and a KH sticker into each gift bag and sold them for $5. It was funny AND sad, but also very sweet. People really rose to the pathetic occasion, waving their pity dollars at Billy: "One 'bag of crap', please!", "I'll take two 'gas bags' for a ten!".

At one point after the LA show, Billy was on stage wrestling a tall, beautiful, blond woman who was trying to shove money into his shirt (I know her, so I was cool with it). This woman did a comprehensive photo shoot for us, free of charge, then she had to buy a ticket to the show because we forgot to put her on the guest list, THEN she tried to give us money! She wouldn't even take a bag of crap for it. I think she won the wrestling match, too, because her money sat crumpled up on the stage as she walked out the front door of the club. Now that's a classy broad.

Bernie and Rob were at the LA show, as well (Bernie brought his future mother-in-law, of all things). I miss them so much. We had an impromptu 50Foot meeting about the next recording. There was some whispered encouragement all around and as much as I hate to say it, I'm pretty sure there was a group hug. We're all three of us, a little needy these days.

Time to make dinner...

X's and O's

Love,
Kristin