I’m writing this with a heavy heart. That’s not really true, I’m actually excited as hell. That said, after something like seven years of writing this bit, this will be the final edition of “Immaculate Infection.” The Double Happiness Farm is up for sale, we’re packing our belongings, and by month’s end we will be residing in wondrous Southern California, Los Angeles, maybe Beverly Hills…eventually. Swimming pools, movie stars—I can feel the LA sun browning my skin as we speak.
Jonathan Livingston Great White Shark
A few things have come up that have enabled this process. First, my inspiring novella has been picked up by Random House. It centers on the spiritual growth of a shark who decides to divorce herself from the cycle of consumption and reproduction, and instead spends her time perfecting the art of swimming quickly through the ocean water. It’s entitled Jonathan Livingston Great White Shark. The publishers have high hopes for the book, and the advance is enough to set us up in a pretty nice pad.
Second, I’ve been offered a steadier gig writing for Candida Royale’s adult film production outfit, Femme Productions. The company specializes in explicit erotic cinema targeted towards a female audience. Those who know me know my penchant for all things blue, and this is really the opportunity that got me dancing in the streets. I’ll be a scriptwriter and doctor, working out the dialogue or coming up with the situations that cleverly lead to the two actors taking it all off and hopping into the sack together. I came up with a couple of early ideas that Ms. Royale, Candy, really liked. The first is a story about a divorcee who decides to take an empowering canoe trip. When the rapids turn out to be too much to handle, she and her robust young guide find themselves separated from the rest of the group and alone in a clearing along the riverbank. It’s called Raging River of Love. I haven’t come up with a title yet for the second, but it involves a couple of CIA agents investigating a money laundering operation posing as a sex toy factory.
I’ve also had a few interesting phone calls from R.J. Cutler about coming on board as a staff writer for the hit television show Nashville! He seems to be all for it, but I may have pissed off co-producer Connie Britton somehow. There was a lot of vodka and the details are hazy at best.
Rock Star Looks at 42
Finally, the Transexpistols have decided it’s high time we regrouped and really stepped up the act. We’re planning a nationwide tour. Trish keeps saying we’re too old and too fat, but we have plenty of make-up and I haven’t eaten a bite since Wednesday.
As you might imagine, Trish isn’t entirely thrilled about the whole idea, but who is she to stand in the way of my dreams? I mean sure, we’ve got this farm we’re working on here, but let’s face it, working in the adult film industry and playing rock and roll beats farming any day of the week. Growing food is neat enough, and there is a certain reward that comes along with it, but the pay is miserable and, let’s face it, it’s ridiculously hard work.
Anyway, it’s been real. Adios, Chico!