52 Marbles
If desire causes suffering, it may be because we do not desire wisely, or that we are inexpert at obtaining what we desire. Instead of hiding our heads in a prayer cloth and building walls against temptation, why not get better at fulfilling desire? Salvation is for the feeble, that’s what I think. I don’t want salvation, I want life, all of life, the miserable as well as the superb. If the gods would tax ecstasy, then I shall pay; however, I shall protest their taxes at each opportunity, and if Woden or Shiva or Bhuddha or that Christian fellow —what’s his name?—cannot respect that then I’ll accept their wrath. At least I will have tasted the banquet that they have spread before me on this rich, round planet, rather than recoiling from it like a toothless bunny. I cannot believe that the most delicious things were placed here merely to test us, to tempt us, to make it the more difficult for us to capture the grand prize: the safety of the void. To fashion of life such a petty game is unworthy of both men and gods.
Tom Robbins "Jitterbug Perfume"
If desire causes suffering, it may be because we do not desire wisely, or that we are inexpert at obtaining what we desire. Instead of hiding our heads in a prayer cloth and building walls against temptation, why not get better at fulfilling desire? Salvation is for the feeble, that’s what I think. I don’t want salvation, I want life, all of life, the miserable as well as the superb. If the gods would tax ecstasy, then I shall pay; however, I shall protest their taxes at each opportunity, and if Woden or Shiva or Bhuddha or that Christian fellow —what’s his name?—cannot respect that then I’ll accept their wrath. At least I will have tasted the banquet that they have spread before me on this rich, round planet, rather than recoiling from it like a toothless bunny. I cannot believe that the most delicious things were placed here merely to test us, to tempt us, to make it the more difficult for us to capture the grand prize: the safety of the void. To fashion of life such a petty game is unworthy of both men and gods.
Tom Robbins "Jitterbug Perfume"
I go for a run in the morning along the St Charles Avenue Streetcar line. It runs up to the posh Garden District where the grand mansions are surrounded by impeccably tended, lush gardens (in contrast to most areas where the grass is still parched - thanks Katrina).
I don’t see anyone else running and I ponder how opposite this city is to my hometown, Vancouver. Where I come from, you can’t go out and not see people on bikes, running, kayaking or partaking in some form of outdoor exercise. Here, there’s a heck of a lot of partying going on. My city is built on rock, the collision of two tectonic plates that formed beautiful mountain ranges for skiing and opened up various bodies of water. Here, the land is flat and built on layers of deposited fluvial materials from the Mississippi. Where I come from, everything shuts down early and the city has a long slumber. Here, the city seems to survive on catnaps. Where I come from, it’s cold; here, it’s balmy (although everyone warns me I’d hate it in August and September when it’s too hot). Here, people are incredibly friendly. Back home we tend to be more insular maintaining a more British sensibility of not disturbing people’s personal bubbles.
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I go to dude’s house before the big Burlesque Show at the House of Blues. He smokes a lot of weed, but he’s Ryder after all. No surprise. We go to the show and it’s a packed house. Always a gentleman, dude bribes a waitress to bring me a stool.
Two of the performers in the show are particularly amazing – Perle Noire and Stormy Gayle. Where most of the performers dance to the music, Perle is the music and she has amazing rapport with the audience. Stormy Gayle is lovely, a classically trained dancer and the ultimate Southern Belle (of the disrobing variety). When I talk to her after the show, I ask her how her costumes are so vibrant. She sews hundreds of Swarovski crystals on the costumes so in the lights, her costume glimmers and shines. I introduce myself to the show’s producer and meet a few of the other dancers. It’s hard for me to believe that I was once so shy that I could barely talk to people I didn’t know. I guess years in the restaurant biz have been of some use.
After the show, dude and I go to a bar with a mechanical bull. As I stand in line to give the bull a try, I watch as drunk college girls are easily bounced off. When it’s my turn, I hold on tightly with my thighs. The bull operator keeps turning up the speed, trying to bounce me off, but I hold tight. Finally, dude tells him to crank it all the way. I laugh as the bull turns wildly. I tenaciously hold the reigns until finally, laughing too hard, I let go.
He comes to my hotel room but after our romp, I ask him to leave. I want to wake up alone in my own space.
I don’t know if dude is ever not high. How can I desire a man that’s so wrong for me? Have I lost my marbles?
I don’t see anyone else running and I ponder how opposite this city is to my hometown, Vancouver. Where I come from, you can’t go out and not see people on bikes, running, kayaking or partaking in some form of outdoor exercise. Here, there’s a heck of a lot of partying going on. My city is built on rock, the collision of two tectonic plates that formed beautiful mountain ranges for skiing and opened up various bodies of water. Here, the land is flat and built on layers of deposited fluvial materials from the Mississippi. Where I come from, everything shuts down early and the city has a long slumber. Here, the city seems to survive on catnaps. Where I come from, it’s cold; here, it’s balmy (although everyone warns me I’d hate it in August and September when it’s too hot). Here, people are incredibly friendly. Back home we tend to be more insular maintaining a more British sensibility of not disturbing people’s personal bubbles.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I go to dude’s house before the big Burlesque Show at the House of Blues. He smokes a lot of weed, but he’s Ryder after all. No surprise. We go to the show and it’s a packed house. Always a gentleman, dude bribes a waitress to bring me a stool.
Two of the performers in the show are particularly amazing – Perle Noire and Stormy Gayle. Where most of the performers dance to the music, Perle is the music and she has amazing rapport with the audience. Stormy Gayle is lovely, a classically trained dancer and the ultimate Southern Belle (of the disrobing variety). When I talk to her after the show, I ask her how her costumes are so vibrant. She sews hundreds of Swarovski crystals on the costumes so in the lights, her costume glimmers and shines. I introduce myself to the show’s producer and meet a few of the other dancers. It’s hard for me to believe that I was once so shy that I could barely talk to people I didn’t know. I guess years in the restaurant biz have been of some use.
After the show, dude and I go to a bar with a mechanical bull. As I stand in line to give the bull a try, I watch as drunk college girls are easily bounced off. When it’s my turn, I hold on tightly with my thighs. The bull operator keeps turning up the speed, trying to bounce me off, but I hold tight. Finally, dude tells him to crank it all the way. I laugh as the bull turns wildly. I tenaciously hold the reigns until finally, laughing too hard, I let go.
He comes to my hotel room but after our romp, I ask him to leave. I want to wake up alone in my own space.
I don’t know if dude is ever not high. How can I desire a man that’s so wrong for me? Have I lost my marbles?
Have you ever had a wonderful time with someone who is wrong for you? As the years pass, one of the determining questions shifts from, "Is this someone who I'd introduce to my parents?" to, "Is this someone who I'd introduce to my children?"
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