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I'm sorry, I just have to gloat at this too-deserved headline...
Westboro Baptist Church Members Suspect Arson After Phelps Fire
Westboro Baptist Church Members Suspect Arson After Phelps Fire
We got back from a dizzying, joyous, wild week at MMF last night about
10:30. It was enough time to lose my mind, get it back, and get a
fierce haircut (all gone). The vegetarian cuisine was toooo
good for the effort (Not a bad bunch of meals - although I skipped a
questionable-looking eggplant and cashew casserole twice on Sunday
night, the second time when it was mistakenly served as dessert.), and
the company I was keeping - some distinguished gentlemen I've known for
at least five years in a few cases - was really good company.
I also took some steps to address some unresolved (and uncomfortable) issues from my personal and Festival histories, and I'd like to think I made some positive steps with each of those issues, and the people related to them. Coming out of Festival, so much seems possible, and so many happy memories seem to be colliding inside my mind all at once...
The oddly ritualistic haircut I received to the reading of Dr. Seuss' "Oh, The Places You'll Go!".
The auction at which I ended up showing off items, a la Barker's Beauties.
The arguments, followed by making up, with John and a few others (lubricated with my tears, among other substances).
A "no-talent" show that took on lounge act proportions.
The pretty fireworks.
The musk of many men in a hot, humid setting.
The refreshing sounds of slightly twangy (and not-so-twangy) accents not caught up in a red-state/blue-state dichotomy.
The discovery that even a recovering hoodrat like myself can exercise hippie sensibilities and love doing so.
The reminders that I am someone much admired, and maybe I need to treat myself like it. Ditto for the rest of you.
I also took some steps to address some unresolved (and uncomfortable) issues from my personal and Festival histories, and I'd like to think I made some positive steps with each of those issues, and the people related to them. Coming out of Festival, so much seems possible, and so many happy memories seem to be colliding inside my mind all at once...
The oddly ritualistic haircut I received to the reading of Dr. Seuss' "Oh, The Places You'll Go!".
The auction at which I ended up showing off items, a la Barker's Beauties.
The arguments, followed by making up, with John and a few others (lubricated with my tears, among other substances).
A "no-talent" show that took on lounge act proportions.
The pretty fireworks.
The musk of many men in a hot, humid setting.
The refreshing sounds of slightly twangy (and not-so-twangy) accents not caught up in a red-state/blue-state dichotomy.
The discovery that even a recovering hoodrat like myself can exercise hippie sensibilities and love doing so.
The reminders that I am someone much admired, and maybe I need to treat myself like it. Ditto for the rest of you.
"I will expand the little bubble of my joy. I will keep puffing at it with the breath of my concentration until it spreads all over my face, into my heart, throughout my entire body and mind, and over the Ocean of Infinity that is hidden in my consciousness."
I guess that describes how I feel on this first full morning of my Midwest Men's Festival. John and I arrived yesterday afternoon around 4:00 after 9-1/2 hot hours in my poorly air-conditioned Ford Escort. Both of our iPods were a decent distraction from the water weight lost on the trip.
Almost as soon as we arrived, the love and admiration hit to the point of being overwhelming at times. It turns out that a request I made was going to be answered, if the smiles of (I won't mention names just yet) when we first laid eyes on each other were any indication. I think a good time might be had. Falling asleep once the temperatures dropped suitably was less of a problem than I thought given the humidity (even though I didn't reach the tent until 12:30 or so).
Today began with John sucking and groping major parts of me, after which I went back to sleep, baking as the sun became more prominent and the temperature incrementally rose along. I'm up now, after having read part of another chapter of Augusten Burrows Dry: A Memoir - funny book so far, in a way that the word "tragicomic" was made for - and now I'm about to get up and toilet, shower, and whatever else comes up.
I guess that describes how I feel on this first full morning of my Midwest Men's Festival. John and I arrived yesterday afternoon around 4:00 after 9-1/2 hot hours in my poorly air-conditioned Ford Escort. Both of our iPods were a decent distraction from the water weight lost on the trip.
Almost as soon as we arrived, the love and admiration hit to the point of being overwhelming at times. It turns out that a request I made was going to be answered, if the smiles of (I won't mention names just yet) when we first laid eyes on each other were any indication. I think a good time might be had. Falling asleep once the temperatures dropped suitably was less of a problem than I thought given the humidity (even though I didn't reach the tent until 12:30 or so).
Today began with John sucking and groping major parts of me, after which I went back to sleep, baking as the sun became more prominent and the temperature incrementally rose along. I'm up now, after having read part of another chapter of Augusten Burrows Dry: A Memoir - funny book so far, in a way that the word "tragicomic" was made for - and now I'm about to get up and toilet, shower, and whatever else comes up.
