Is life a party? I don't know.
"The cradle rocks above an abyss," Nabokov wrote, "and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness." Odd, coming from the same man who wrote, "In order to enjoy life, we should not enjoy it too much." If existence is brief, why would Nabokov object to us grasping for that fleeting enjoyment? Was he drunk? I hate to tell you this, but once I had beer. Right in my bowl. Someone poured it in there—because they thought it was funny—and next thing you know, I'm lapping it up. Many weeks later a friend asked me, "Why'd you drink it?" Well, because it was in the bowl.
They say I was intoxicated. If I'm being honest, it wasn't that different from my normal feeling. I'm always pretty excited. At certain times, I get excited. Jazzed about things. It seems like the right move to me. Look over here: it's a butterfly, fluttering by. Look over there: it's a squirrel's tail. Look up: there's a jet plane. Look down: there are some ants. All of these things that I need to put in my mouth. Which to choose first? Where do I direct my bites? It's an exciting lifestyle, that's all. I find it to be an exciting time to be alive. Call me unsophisticated if you want. I'll call you [barking].
If you never had beer in your bowl, this is what it tastes like: the straw in the broom that sweeps the floor of the brewery. Dandelions. Each individual strain of bacteria that falls into the vat during the brewing process. Yeast. Mainly yeast. The only thing I ever tasted before with that super yeasty flavor was a Big! Fat! Yeast Roll! from the dumpster out behind Quincy's when I was just a kid. Same strong yeasty flavor, more chewy. Should I be a food reviewer? Oh my god, yes. I should write reviews of food. Or just say them.
Somebody was talking about fractals. Wonders of the geometry. I tried walking on the carpet in a fractal pattern. Starting by moving in an extremely tight spiral, I gradually widened my path. Soon I'd walked right up to the wall. I tried to keep walking, to be like the fractal. I pressed my side against the wall. It felt cool. I pressed the side of my face against the wall. I walked as hard I could, smearing myself against the wall, letting my tongue drag along beside me. Soon another wall blocked my path. I pushed my nose against it until my eyes watered. I kept doing that, my muscles straining forward against the immovable obstacle, for three or four minutes. Come to find out someone put me on YouTube with the title, "Drunk Dog Try to Walk Thru the Wall." You know what? I'm okay with that. I'm at peace. I know things about that wall that you never will.
[Image by Jim Cooke]