Tomorrow night down in Naples, Florida, we are going to a Haitian wedding, of all things. An old colleague of Michelle's. We will blaze down and, God willing, arrive in Michelle's bright yellow sports car, me in my midnight black stealth suit with glow-in-the-dark purple tie, she in her skin-tight-slink black and gold glam-slam dress and six-inch lizard spikes. Michelle's friend said that Haitians love to fuss in full feather. Hope to God they do, else dis LeRoy & his Ho will look like a voodoo Mardi Gras come to town.
Speaking of voodoo: I once read a book on Haiti, a history book. No matter what religion the inhabitants say they subscribe to, fact is something like 75-110% of the impoverished islanders openly practice voodoo. Which raises questions: Will there be a goat sacrifice Saturday night to ensure a happy marriage? Will a witch doctor perform the ceremony? Will rice be thrown at the happy couple? Or something else? Crushed chicken bones? Magic rat scat? Can we take photos? Or is it considered bad mojo?
Speakin' o bad mojo: Voodoo wedding no place me piss people off, neither. Me my best behavior. Evil eye no get me if me no look anyone in de evil eye. Me no want no Witch Man making no little bald doll of me and stickin' no pins in it, neither. Best be believin, dis ol' white coon be on best behavior, sho.
In addition to a bazillion buzzards, and of course hundreds of horses, this place where we live is teaming with dogs. Every spread seems to have five or more ferocious hounds--to guard the hosses, I presume. All these critters are large and snarling and all would seemingly tear you a new one, and quickly too, were it not for the steel fences separating their hungry jaws from your big buttocks. Obviously, this "equestrian community" is well off. Anyone who can afford 10-20 acres in Florida simply to bed their horses is sitting pretty high in the saddle, if you ask me. But as I have learned in my daily bike rides, ignorance is universal and not confined to the lower half of society. Like shit, "stupid" also happens.
Not long after making my appearance here in January, I recall Michelle notifying the ASPCA that she had seen that day on her horse ride, not one but two cases of animal abuse--one horse was still standing, but starving fast; another was on the ground, a skeleton, but yet breathing (both, if I remember correctly, were later "put down"). I have personally observed at least one ranch in which the owner--either too lazy or too cheap to put up a fence like virtually everyone else--just stakes out his German Shepherds in the front yard. Every day when I pass, the hounds are in the same spots. Chained like logs, these dogs naturally bark their life away from boredom. Such ignorance and/or indifference has more to do with a state of mind than it does with the size of the bank statement, I think.
Michelle is a quiet, unpretentious little red-headed Russian/French woman, modest and unassuming. More into romance and comedy, she was patient as I fed my fiendish fetish for old monster flicks last week. Three movies that seem just as scary as when I first saw them as a kid are Dracula, Frankenstein and The Mummy, all of which we watched with popcorn together. In fact, ANY movie that suits my fancy--be they classic Westerns or military blood and guts stuff--Michelle patiently sits and watches with me, despite the fact that they are not her cup of tea. Yet strangely, and although she never watches even a minute of network TV otherwise, Michelle will religiously plop down on the couch each Thursday night at eight and watch that horrid weekly thing ("Vampire Diaries", I think it is called), oblivious to me, the world and all other ephemera. The series is a piggy-backer or copy-catter from that hit teen movie, Twilight. Although I tried mightily to watch both the movie DVD and an episode from the TV series with Michelle, both just left me cold and in the dark. Michelle ended up watching them alone. And so, since she walks the line for me and I don't for her, I guess she is a better woman than me!?!? Or is it that I am a lesser man than her?!?!? Or whatever. . . . Her threshold for pain is higher than mine!!!
Pistol of the Day