CALL ME SNAKE

I just heard from Jungle Jerk last night, a folk hero of the blogosphere (see link at right), who was returning to these 48 states after five weeks in South America that involved tromping around in the jungles, the highlands, and lowlands. It was late, and both of us were tired, and little of what he said made sense to my overly fatigued brain. He spoke of various visions he’d had, sweat lodges in Colombia, Lakota sun dances in Indiana and South Dakota, ayahuasca rituals in the Andes, and swimming in green sulfuric lakes in the mountains of Ecuador. He went on and on, Andre Gregory-style, and half the time I had no idea what he was talking about. None of his experiences were familiar. I could barely picture any of it except for when he described the return flight from Bogota to JFK during which he saw “A Good Year,” the latest Russell Crowe vehicle.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Not too good,” he said.