Remember, o man, that thou art dust, or, how to clean your oven naturally

Jerry Falwell offered in the early 1990's a free video casette of 'the gay agenda'. Since the Bad Boys were gay and unaware that we had an agenda, we ordered a copy. Sweet. Just in time for a big dance team contest to raise money for some Good Cause or another, we were informed that we really loved something called mud-dogging. Mud-dogging, according to Mr. Falwell, who claimed to know, is rolling in one's sexmate's excrement. We decided our team must be called the MudDogs.

Being squeemish, we also decided to substitute clay for shit. Fortunately, there's plenty of clay along the banks of the Santa Fe River, so we gathered a few buckets of our theological equivalence, and got ready to dance. Some of us wore almost nothing but mud, some of us wore mud-soaked tuxedos. There were some mud-tutus, some mud-pajamas, some mud-heads, copying the Hopi kachina. It seemed to us were the certain winners, but the Poodle Skirts beat us by less than $5.00.

This particular rund raiser was in late April, and it was still cold is Santa Fe, so we of course mudded up in the kitchen of the Bacanale. We warmed the clay in the oven, which had been crusted over with years of nastiness. We  coated each other carefully, then left our pictographic signature on the ceiling, each of us putting his hand print to make a big circle.

The next morning we were having a brunch. My initial thought was, 'what can we possibly do to clean to oven so it would be ready for cooking souffles. No worries. Mud makes the perfect all-natural oven cleaner. I wonder how Mr. Falwell cleaned his oven.

Years later, I went back to see how the Bacanale had fared since we left it. There was new paint, and central heat, and new fences. But the mud hands were still on the kitchen ceiling.