This song had me humming along by the end. How dear.
My favorite verse:
"Have you ever seen 'Big Love'?
Know what I mean, wink, wink, nudge, nudge..."
And they say "Oh, so you're a Mormon?"
"No! ...I'll explain from the beginning..."
26.9.07
A Poly Song!
Whether or not I'm doing poly, I'll probably always be interested in it.
This song had me humming along by the end. How dear.
My favorite verse:
This song had me humming along by the end. How dear.
My favorite verse:
16.9.07
Are You Carny?
Emay and I started a small beach fire and settled into our camp chairs, craning our necks to enjoy the rare view of coastal starlight. Several hundred yards up the beach, a bonfire blazed. Thick, black clouds periodically rose from the distant fire, the smell of burnt plastic wafting down the beach, occasionally reaching us. We muttered about rednecks and wrinkled our noses.
After awhile, I stood, stretched, and stepped out of the firelight to pull off my long-sleeved shirt, exposing my chest to the cool night air, before pulling on the leather vest and adjusting my leather chaps.
"Okay, Emay, here I go. You know how to work the camera?"
"Yep. I do. You signal me when you want me to hit record."
Usually I savor the post-fireplay rush produced by flame against flesh, heat dancing on lips, adrenaline pumping. But this time I was startled when a dog's glowing collar and rattling tags announced the otherwise-stealthy appearance of Drunken Local One. He swayed as he entered the circle of light, clutching a tallboy.
"Hello?" Emay called out nervously.
"Hey there, ladies," he said, slightly slurry. Then addressing me, "You're crazy!"
I sighed. Though attracting attention was inevitable with fireplay, I really wasn't in the mood to entertain a drunken stranger. "Yeah. That's what they tell me." I walked away, rustled around in my firebox, wishing he would go away so I could take off the leather vest and pull on the soft wool shirt without showing my breasts to some random drunk guy. After a few minutes of rambling on about my obvious insanity, he finally took the hint from our silence and non-engagement.
"Alright. Didn't mean to disturb you. Just drawn to the fire."
"Have a good night," I chirped, happy as he finally sauntered off.
Emay was anxious. "Wasn't that weird? Just to sneak up on us like that? I think that's weird, Moss."
"Yeah, it was," I acknowledged. In an effort to calm her nervousness, I added, "But maybe he thought we could see him walking up. Maybe he didn't know it was creepy. Maybe he was too drunk to think about it."
After sitting for a few minutes, watching the video on the tiny camera screen, and waiting for Drunken Local to move further down the beach, I spun poi, dancing barefoot in the sand. I dipped and re-dipped. Recorded, reviewed, erased, and re-recorded, missing the best performances and then futilely trying to recreate the best moments . . .
As I finished what I thought would be my last round for awhile, Drunken Locals Two, Three, Four, and Five approached. Drunken Locals' two dogs walked right into the fuel station, knocking lids off cans, spilling fuel. Again Emay called out to them before anyone acknowledged their presence. "Hello?" Her voice had the distinct twinge of irritation. Don't people know it's rude to approach a fire without signaling arrival?
"I was just finishing," I said to them, dropping my smoking poi on the firebox.
"Aww, but we wanted to come see up close! We been watching you for awhile down the beach."
"Okay, okay, I'll light up one more time," I conceded, figuring that making it performance-esque would perhaps keep them from feeling invited to stay and hang out at our campfire with us. I stooped to shoo away the dogs, upright the fuel cans, dip my wicks, and confer with Emay, who seemed agitated.
"This is freaking me out," she whispered. "There are four drunk guys here and two of us. I don't feel safe."
"It'll be okay," I whispered back. "Energetic boundaries. We're safe. They won't hurt us - I can just feel it. We're okay."
Standing, I addressed the Drunk Locals. "Here's the deal. I have open fuel over here, so keep your dogs away from me and the fuel, okay? Also, don't walk over here with lit cigarettes. Open fuel. Get it? And don't walk up behind me when I'm lit up. I can't hear you or see you when the toys are on fire. Okay?"
The Drunken Chorus:
"Where'd you learn how to do that if you ain't carny?" he challenged me. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"Well, I lived with fire spinners for awhile, and I learned from them."
He thought about that for a moment.
"Oh. So you ARE carny."
After awhile, I stood, stretched, and stepped out of the firelight to pull off my long-sleeved shirt, exposing my chest to the cool night air, before pulling on the leather vest and adjusting my leather chaps.
"Okay, Emay, here I go. You know how to work the camera?"
"Yep. I do. You signal me when you want me to hit record."
Usually I savor the post-fireplay rush produced by flame against flesh, heat dancing on lips, adrenaline pumping. But this time I was startled when a dog's glowing collar and rattling tags announced the otherwise-stealthy appearance of Drunken Local One. He swayed as he entered the circle of light, clutching a tallboy.
"Hello?" Emay called out nervously.
"Hey there, ladies," he said, slightly slurry. Then addressing me, "You're crazy!"
I sighed. Though attracting attention was inevitable with fireplay, I really wasn't in the mood to entertain a drunken stranger. "Yeah. That's what they tell me." I walked away, rustled around in my firebox, wishing he would go away so I could take off the leather vest and pull on the soft wool shirt without showing my breasts to some random drunk guy. After a few minutes of rambling on about my obvious insanity, he finally took the hint from our silence and non-engagement.
"Alright. Didn't mean to disturb you. Just drawn to the fire."
"Have a good night," I chirped, happy as he finally sauntered off.
Emay was anxious. "Wasn't that weird? Just to sneak up on us like that? I think that's weird, Moss."
"Yeah, it was," I acknowledged. In an effort to calm her nervousness, I added, "But maybe he thought we could see him walking up. Maybe he didn't know it was creepy. Maybe he was too drunk to think about it."
After sitting for a few minutes, watching the video on the tiny camera screen, and waiting for Drunken Local to move further down the beach, I spun poi, dancing barefoot in the sand. I dipped and re-dipped. Recorded, reviewed, erased, and re-recorded, missing the best performances and then futilely trying to recreate the best moments . . .
As I finished what I thought would be my last round for awhile, Drunken Locals Two, Three, Four, and Five approached. Drunken Locals' two dogs walked right into the fuel station, knocking lids off cans, spilling fuel. Again Emay called out to them before anyone acknowledged their presence. "Hello?" Her voice had the distinct twinge of irritation. Don't people know it's rude to approach a fire without signaling arrival?
"I was just finishing," I said to them, dropping my smoking poi on the firebox.
"Aww, but we wanted to come see up close! We been watching you for awhile down the beach."
"Okay, okay, I'll light up one more time," I conceded, figuring that making it performance-esque would perhaps keep them from feeling invited to stay and hang out at our campfire with us. I stooped to shoo away the dogs, upright the fuel cans, dip my wicks, and confer with Emay, who seemed agitated.
"This is freaking me out," she whispered. "There are four drunk guys here and two of us. I don't feel safe."
"It'll be okay," I whispered back. "Energetic boundaries. We're safe. They won't hurt us - I can just feel it. We're okay."
Standing, I addressed the Drunk Locals. "Here's the deal. I have open fuel over here, so keep your dogs away from me and the fuel, okay? Also, don't walk over here with lit cigarettes. Open fuel. Get it? And don't walk up behind me when I'm lit up. I can't hear you or see you when the toys are on fire. Okay?"
The Drunken Chorus:
Dogs! C'mere!During the performance and afterward, the Drunken Chorus continued:
Wow, lots of rules.
Oh, yeah, yeah, we get it.
I don't smoke cigarettes.
Dogs! Come back here!
Wow!And then one question came from Drunken Local Three, who asked me in a serious tone:
That's amazing...
What kind of gas do you burn?
Probably propane. Must be propane.
How do you not burn yourself?
Man, you got balls, girl.
Are you carny?I laughed. "Am I what? Carny? No. I wouldn't say I'm carny." Images of thick-knuckled men with cigarettes dangling between their lips while they operated a merry-go-round flashed before my eyes. Emay later told me that she thought he'd asked if I was horny, fueling her nervousness at the scenario.
"Where'd you learn how to do that if you ain't carny?" he challenged me. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"Well, I lived with fire spinners for awhile, and I learned from them."
He thought about that for a moment.
"Oh. So you ARE carny."
12.9.07
TrashMan
After his back was broken in a mining accident, my grandfather became the garbage man in Blanding, Utah, an insular little place, just north and west of the spot where Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico meet. It's a town that doesn't sell alcohol within city limits, a place where five or six family names dominate the cemetery headstones.
As the town trashman, he would often take people's broken side tables or bikes or whatever, fix them, and put them back on their front porch.
Grandpa was always picking up garbage. Everywhere we went, he was picking up trash, stooping his broken-backed self over to pick up a stray cup lid or cigarette butt or newspaper. He consistently made a place better than it was when he found it.
I've tried my best to follow suit, to follow the good examples I've received from my male lineage, taking latex gloves from my first aid kit and picking up people's nasty leave-behind garbage. And yeah, humans are really gross creatures. But this weekend, at the Owyhee Hot Springs Rendezvous with TW, I was shocked by the garbage. The 5-cent glass beer bottles and aluminum cans were taken away by enterprising sorts who wanted the recycling credits. But the cardboard box that held the 24-pack of Budweiser was left askew on the water's edge. The toilet paper alone was enough to warrant a second pair of latex gloves. But the topper was the Huggies and Pull-Ups.
What kind of person leaves filthy diapers strewn about? Seriously?
As the town trashman, he would often take people's broken side tables or bikes or whatever, fix them, and put them back on their front porch.
Grandpa was always picking up garbage. Everywhere we went, he was picking up trash, stooping his broken-backed self over to pick up a stray cup lid or cigarette butt or newspaper. He consistently made a place better than it was when he found it.
I've tried my best to follow suit, to follow the good examples I've received from my male lineage, taking latex gloves from my first aid kit and picking up people's nasty leave-behind garbage. And yeah, humans are really gross creatures. But this weekend, at the Owyhee Hot Springs Rendezvous with TW, I was shocked by the garbage. The 5-cent glass beer bottles and aluminum cans were taken away by enterprising sorts who wanted the recycling credits. But the cardboard box that held the 24-pack of Budweiser was left askew on the water's edge. The toilet paper alone was enough to warrant a second pair of latex gloves. But the topper was the Huggies and Pull-Ups.
What kind of person leaves filthy diapers strewn about? Seriously?
Rendezvous
TW and I rendezvoused at Owyhee Hot Springs last weekend. It was wonderful. We are both so much in love with each other that it's endearing and (by all accounts) not quite yet sickening.
When we met up in Nampa, Idaho, I realized how much fear and watchful looking over my shoulder I'd shed since moving to Portland six weeks ago. She had to remind me that we had an audience at times; that the rednecks might not appreciate watching me suck face with my girlfriend, that I wasn't in my safe haven of a liberal city.
When we met up in Nampa, Idaho, I realized how much fear and watchful looking over my shoulder I'd shed since moving to Portland six weeks ago. She had to remind me that we had an audience at times; that the rednecks might not appreciate watching me suck face with my girlfriend, that I wasn't in my safe haven of a liberal city.
3.9.07
Sunny Seattle
My well-loved pink sunglasses recently broke, so I was thrilled to find another pair upon entering Bumbershoot in Seattle Saturday morning. R took the following little mpg of me in those rose colored glasses that make the world look extra-beeeeautiful.
Other highlights from my weekend in sunny Seattle, in addition to hanging out with SLC friends who flew in for the festival:
- log cabin house where I stayed and slept under a fairy tree
- meeting Shanti's folks!
- laughing in an Irish pub with a couple of makeup'd clowns from Vau de Vire, fresh from BRC
- Rude Mechs doing Get Your War On (flash link)
- shaking my ass to the Aggrolites
- Ingrid and Heidi blessing the crowd with their loveliness (unfortunately the mpg I tried to take didn't turn out)
- getting turned on to Rodrigo y Gabriela
- DeVotchKa as the perfect end to a perfect festival day
- Cyclecide, the Heavy Pedal Cyclecide Bike Rodeo - see video below
After driving home Sunday afternoon, I finally hauled myself and my firetoys down to the bi-monthly firejam under the Marquam Bridge on Sunday nights. I was dead tired, hadn't lit up for over a month, but happy to hear the swoosh and feel the heat and play with burning fuel. After all, I am an Aries Fire Dragon.
Then today was my first potluck gathering in my new space and a very nice way to warm my house a month after setting down my first box, wiping my brow, and wondering WTF I'd done. What I'd done was follow my instinct/heart, and the rest is falling into place just as it should. As usual.
Other highlights from my weekend in sunny Seattle, in addition to hanging out with SLC friends who flew in for the festival:
- log cabin house where I stayed and slept under a fairy tree
- meeting Shanti's folks!
- laughing in an Irish pub with a couple of makeup'd clowns from Vau de Vire, fresh from BRC
- Rude Mechs doing Get Your War On (flash link)
- shaking my ass to the Aggrolites
- Ingrid and Heidi blessing the crowd with their loveliness (unfortunately the mpg I tried to take didn't turn out)
- getting turned on to Rodrigo y Gabriela
- DeVotchKa as the perfect end to a perfect festival day
- Cyclecide, the Heavy Pedal Cyclecide Bike Rodeo - see video below
* * *
After driving home Sunday afternoon, I finally hauled myself and my firetoys down to the bi-monthly firejam under the Marquam Bridge on Sunday nights. I was dead tired, hadn't lit up for over a month, but happy to hear the swoosh and feel the heat and play with burning fuel. After all, I am an Aries Fire Dragon.
Then today was my first potluck gathering in my new space and a very nice way to warm my house a month after setting down my first box, wiping my brow, and wondering WTF I'd done. What I'd done was follow my instinct/heart, and the rest is falling into place just as it should. As usual.
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