I proofed three chapters, then felt sluggish and went walking in Audubon Park. At least one pair of anhingas seems to nest there every year. Among other oddities, they have an unusual feather structure that allows water into tiny spaces. The resulting loss of buoyancy helps them submerge to feed. (Sibley, THE SIBLEY GUIDE TO BIRD LIFE AND BEHAVIOR, pp. 165-166) Consequently, they become waterlogged and you'll see them sitting on branches with their wings dramatically outstretched, drying in the sun. If you are in New Orleans and are interested in the anhingas, they can often be seen just off the Aubudon Park walking track not far from its closest approach to St. Charles Avenue. Find the statue of the man and the little boy fishing, then go to the edge of the lagoon and look out at the dead branches on the golf course side. If you see a big, snaky-necked black and brown bird perching there with outstretched wings, it is an anhinga. Be sure to walk around for a rear view, as they have beautiful silvery markings on the backs of their wings.

Also saw a green heron (colloquial name: shitpoke) disguised as a turtle, hunched down half in the water with his wings spread a little to resemble a shell. I knew they didn't like to be observed, but I didn't know they could do that. Watched the egrets and ibises on the island for a while as the sun was setting, but had to leave becase I'd forgotten my bug spray and was getting bit up. After scoffing at them all, I'm probably going to get simultaneous cases of mad cow disease, West Nile Virus, SARS, and anthrax. No, anthrax is so 2001 ... how about swine flu? I wonder how many people reading this are old enough to remember swine flu.

As I walked, I thought more about the childless/childfree thing, about the difference between the showy hatefulness I've seen in the childfree communities and the mostly cogent, polite remarks I received when I took the time to ask about it. I think the communities both fascinate and horrify me because I came so close to that sort of bitterness myself in my late twenties/early thirties. As I said, I was appalled at the way the whole world seemed geared toward heterosexuals and their babies, and embarrassed that people who didn't know me probably lumped me into that mass. My feelings on the whole matter of "breeders" were not precisely those of EXQUISITE CORPSE's Lush Rimbaud, but they weren't as far off as you might expect. I'm far better able to deal with the abstract concept of parenthood now that I am getting to an age (36) where people don't tell me "Oh, you'll want kids when you get older" nearly as much as they used to. This is a particular peeve of the childfree folks, and a justifiable one; informing someone (especially someone you barely know, which often seems to be the case) of what decisions she will or won't make about her own body and life is the height of rude, stupid arrogance.

I still don't want kids. Never have, doubt I ever will. But some of my friends have them now, and seem to take enormous joy in them, not just some reflexive isn't-he-the-kyoooootest-thing breeder tic. Most of the parents and kids I see walking around the park, shopping, eating out, etc. seem happy enough. I don't look at them and think "That's a bad thing." Even when the kids are being bratty, as they almost always are in the guess-what-horror-was-inflicted-upon-mine-poor-childfree-eyes stories, I don't see the incipient global catastrophe they seem to. I don't know. It's certainly their prerogative to feel as they do. Many of them sound like intelligent people. Better they should have an Internet community where they can vent than they should go around surreptitiously tripping kids in Wal-Mart. I just ... in general ... don't see anything wrong with ... ack ... perpetuating the species. I hate many of the things we have done as a species, especially to other species and the environment, but overall I do not think humanity is a bad thing. There's still enough breeder-hater in me that I have a hard time admitting that, but it's true.

Gah. My warm, fuzzy feelings for people nauseate even me sometimes. Writing about the Stubbs family has changed me a lot, though I'm not exactly sure why or even entirely sure how. I'm interested in things that never interested me up until a few years ago, and feelings and opinions I used to hold with a passion now seem completely foreign to me. I understand that many readers who liked the misanthropic, violent, outsider-ish qualities of my earlier work are not going to like these changes. I don't blame them or wish to mock them for that. For me, though, it's about a hell of a lot more than what I write, and I could no more pretend to still be the PZB who wrote LOST SOULS or EXQUISITE CORPSE than I could pass for a 15-year-old (or a biological man, for that matter). Selah, as Hunter S. Thompson likes to say.