Party last night, and I had a blast. I spent most of the evening watching the fire dancers, and I dont know what was more heartening, seeing how good they were, or how far they had to go. Its nice to know in this area of ever-incresing conformity and gentrification, in some the spirit still burns strong. I was fortunate enough to see the second fire sculpture as well, and only wish I could see it in its natural habitat at burning man. I watched a group cast circle and felt the power call to their hand, but didnt really stick around for the drumming and dancing. I hung out in the cozy little vagina, and climbed to the top of the spinning rock. I watched as industrial punks whipped their slave girls, then took power tools to their metal bikinis, then as the tables turned and the girls turned the tools on the boys, then on themselves. I watched a Zippo lighter shoot flame must have been 100 feet into the air. I spoke to a lovely artist whom I must contact soon, as we discussed comic book ideas.
And I drank. A lot.
The most amusing part of the evening (in retrospect) was the drunk frat-boy-asshole.
The spinning rock was a fair sized boulder balanced on a contraption that (with a lot of effort) allowed it to spin. Some kid had been all over it all night long, and as soon as he deserted I snagged the rock to get a good climb in. Now, by this point I wasnt really walking straight, and my jeans were kinda tight, so after about four failed attempt to lift myself more than a foot of the ground, I have some drunk-ass guy come up behind me and give me a good HEAVE up by getting a good feel of my ass. Then he decides to climb up after me. Getting us both on top of the rock required a LOT of crowding, enough that, in my ever so drunken state, I started to panic. Then the man starts saying things like "I guess you're stuck up here with me" and "darling, I dont see how I can concentrate what with your boobs popping out and all," (I was wearing a cleavage shirt--by far not the most revealing outfit at the party) and otherwise making his intentions known. So now I'm scared and PISSED.
People start gathering at the bottom of the rock, encouraging me to climb down a sheer side, telling me they'll catch my feet on their shoulders, and other helpful things. I'm trying to take their advice, but frat-boy-asshole is completely in my way, and I'm starting to hyperventilate. I start growling curses at him as I try to find my way down, and finally he says that one thing too many. I start screaming at him if he doesnt back off I swear I'll punch him right off the goddamned rock. At this point the crowd below me begins to disperse.
I start taking advice to lay on my belly and slither down the rock and wind up down safely, only falling with a moderate "thump" on my ass. In the meantime, frat-boy-asshole has chosen his own way off the rock, starting to climb down but instead falling hard on his ass. So hard, in fact, (I was told later) he lost a shoe on impact. He must have wanted to get away from me BAD. I also find out after the fact people thought he was my boyfriend, and decided when I started screaming at him I couldnt be half as scared as I looked.
The best part of my whole evening might have been scaring the piss out of that asshole.
And I drank. A lot.
The most amusing part of the evening (in retrospect) was the drunk frat-boy-asshole.
The spinning rock was a fair sized boulder balanced on a contraption that (with a lot of effort) allowed it to spin. Some kid had been all over it all night long, and as soon as he deserted I snagged the rock to get a good climb in. Now, by this point I wasnt really walking straight, and my jeans were kinda tight, so after about four failed attempt to lift myself more than a foot of the ground, I have some drunk-ass guy come up behind me and give me a good HEAVE up by getting a good feel of my ass. Then he decides to climb up after me. Getting us both on top of the rock required a LOT of crowding, enough that, in my ever so drunken state, I started to panic. Then the man starts saying things like "I guess you're stuck up here with me" and "darling, I dont see how I can concentrate what with your boobs popping out and all," (I was wearing a cleavage shirt--by far not the most revealing outfit at the party) and otherwise making his intentions known. So now I'm scared and PISSED.
People start gathering at the bottom of the rock, encouraging me to climb down a sheer side, telling me they'll catch my feet on their shoulders, and other helpful things. I'm trying to take their advice, but frat-boy-asshole is completely in my way, and I'm starting to hyperventilate. I start growling curses at him as I try to find my way down, and finally he says that one thing too many. I start screaming at him if he doesnt back off I swear I'll punch him right off the goddamned rock. At this point the crowd below me begins to disperse.
I start taking advice to lay on my belly and slither down the rock and wind up down safely, only falling with a moderate "thump" on my ass. In the meantime, frat-boy-asshole has chosen his own way off the rock, starting to climb down but instead falling hard on his ass. So hard, in fact, (I was told later) he lost a shoe on impact. He must have wanted to get away from me BAD. I also find out after the fact people thought he was my boyfriend, and decided when I started screaming at him I couldnt be half as scared as I looked.
The best part of my whole evening might have been scaring the piss out of that asshole.