Lately I’ve been so hungry. In addition to sending me videos, a few students have baked me cookies and/or brought me treats. I want to eat it all! But I’m participating in an experiment. How does life feel when you eat not for the taste of the food, or the pang of that craving, but for the nourishment you know your body requires? How does it feel to eat for how you feel 20 minutes after your meal, instead of the during act of eating? It’s not easy, but I’m stil mid-experiment. Anyhow, as a result, my cookies will be doled out in moderation, and my candy has been scrapped.
Truly, this isn’t that kind of hunger anyhow. I’m hungry for life in HD. I’m hungry for fun. I’m ravenous for a sense of wonder and bouyency. I want to be entertained, or to participate in dual collaborative entertainment, or to open new ideas like gifts under the tree. I hunger for connection and abandon and a fat future that I see stretched out before me. I’m hungry for the kind of adventure that develops on days where you are carried by liquor and new friends, and know there is no logic in the sport but the sport itself.
For example: Santa Con. After seven years of hearing about it after the fact, I finally found a suit, and a posse to go with. Even at Axis, as we sat down to our bottomless mimosa brunch, it was clear we were part of something great. By great I mean ridiculous, fun and comic-quality. This is San Francisco, heads up. Among us we had a reindeer, and a ton of sexy Mrs. Clauses. The red and white costumes felt like another experiment. Could holiday cheer outpower the stupidity of a thousand drunk Santas? Could this silly prank make people laugh? Could we drop our pretense for a day? I’d say yes. From one amazing friend, I met a slough of new lady pals. As we drove from SoMa to North beach, we decided to go analog, and provide our own soundtrack. We were amazing at the first two verses of every song we knew, and beyond that, we could never remember a thing. In the bars, people said hi who would normally feel insular. I found a few guys who dared me to make eyes, or better yet, dared me to make out. Every corner was an invitation. I wanted to go to each one.
And now, the rubber band has snapped me back. I’m a day worker. I’m an evaluate-a-tron. I’m a charmer of teenagers. I’m a giver of final exams.
One week, discipline. The next week, abandon. One week, solitude. Next week, begin again.