Red Bull Gives You Wings: Free Bird

 “Who do you work for?” You might’ve been wondering this, and the answer is: myself. I am my own boss. And she’s a bitch.

Anyways, I wanted to give you an update on Bike Week, cause John and I like to frequent Main Street twice a year. It’s like our thing, sans alcohol; John is sober by association, lol (don’t blame me (I told you my boss was a bitch), the guy just doesn’t drink. I am blessed). It’s a weird thing for someone who used alcohol as a social lubricant (and lubricant in general. Life was very slippery), the former high school girl whose face turned red anytime a cute boy spoke to her. So I’m faking it until I make it, taking on some confident sober persona, and I don’t understand it, but I like it. You’ve come a long way baby (you’re in Daytona Beach!). 

We parked on Grandview Ave, and walked several blocks to Main Street, because parking is tricky, and we won’t pay for it, so we do a lot of walking. I don’t mind, but it was chilly, and I wore my big winter coat with the furry collar (it was too cold to dress sexy. I’m a style maverick, but I’m no masochist). “Are you gonna make it?” John asked. He likes to pick on me, but always reminds me that I am tough. We could hear the bikes and see the slingshot on our route down A1A, and luckily found a mobile coffee stand, so I had to get an espresso. A Double (it’s bike week, baby!). We entered Main Street from A1A, trying not to bother anyone with a lit cigarette (ok, we don’t try that hard. I’m not a drunk slob who forgets her manners, I just like to act like I don’t give a fug).

Our plan was to let our ears lead us to good music. We walked all the way up to the Main Street Station, which was pumping techno as the scheduled band got ready to play. John got us two Red Bulls from the bar. I didn’t know there was a techno version of Free Bird. Interesting. So we walked to the back of the station where another band was performing: Are Friends Electric (I still don’t understand the grammar of that). They were good; they had a sax and a pretty female lead singer. We stayed for a while there, and got to watch an “aerial” performer twist herself on something that looked like a stripper pole with a hula hoop. Never seen that before. I should’ve been jealous, but I was too impressed to care. That’s art, and it was graceful and beautiful. I’m not a lesbian, but I appreciate the female form. And I know John does. 

I should’ve got a video of her, but I didn’t bring my phone, cause I wanted to be in the moment (bike weeks are only twice a year, there’s plenty of time to be a phone whore at home). Try it sometime. 

Anyways, we walked back down Main, snaking through people, which is part of the experience. We left cause we knew we’d come back again. And we will. And hopefully it will be slightly warmer.

It’s Bike Week, baby! Live in the moment. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Wildlife

 Today I saw a woodpecker and its baby, while standing in the Elks field talking on the phone. The mother and baby exchanged food mouth to mouth. They both had a red tuft of hair in their head. In Bushmann Park we counted eighteen turtles in the water. They gobbled up dry cat food (don’t use wet. We tried. It sinks). “Feeding twenty cats, eighteen turtles…and a partridge in a pear tree,” John said. We used to feed a colony of cats several streets behind the Dollar General. “Old Faithful” was one of the regulars. He had a bad eye. We grew attached to an orange kitten. Mostly they got dry food, but often we brought turkey or tuna or salmon or all of the above (one time a guy on a bike rode by and called us “cat assholes”).  My neighbor Jim puts his leftovers on a tree stump for squirrels and raccoons. But the park just issued a notice not to feed stray animals. Don’t they realize we’ve got a multitude of stray cats and anybody is feeding somebody something? Exactly. John used to...
Read more

Recovery

 I didn’t write when I was actively drinking, focused on more immediate sources of pleasure. Plus, the way I drank didn’t permit introspection; noticing the flowers, commenting on the taste of beer. Anne Lamott was different, going to writing retreats with her own stash of liquor, getting drunk off her ass ( my forte as well). Anyways, I didn’t (drink in moderation) imbibe just enough to get in the writing spirit, but enough to obscure my thoughts and my handwriting to slurred letters. I liked to consume: music. It was all about the music, what song could evoke the most emotional of emotions: “Free Bird,” “The Crow Chasing the Butterfly,” “Closer to the Heart,” “More than a Feeling.” But it was feel good music too: Sugar Ray, Chicago, Rush (I like the alliteration there). I would work YouTube until I was blurry-eyed and spent, when John would take burning cigarette out of my hand and put me to bed. He bought a new speaker set, sensing my enthusiasm for loud tunes. I tried to look u...
Read more

Thanks Whatever: Spruce Creek Park

 We went for a walk in Spruce Creek Park. It’s down the road from our house, heading south towards New Smyrna Beach. We walked through the woods, over several wooden planks, to the treehouse. I prayed we didn’t see a snake! We didn’t (why do I go on these adventures?). Just the small holes of fiddler crabs. We walked up the two levels of stairs to the top (I need to stop smoking (I did not bring cigarettes with me)).  What a view (and I’m not talking about the various graffiti inscribed on the wood). Then we walked past the treehouse, down a dirt road to a worn grassy trail that leads to a picnic shelter (tightly packed with picnic tables), and farther yet, past the “END OF TRAIL” sign (says who?), where there must have been water once, according a myriad of mangrove sprouts. “Is that poop?” No, it’s just small balls of dirt that small creatures move to dig holes. We could walk no further: the non-trail ended. My back was sweaty and I yearned for a cold water. The flies were c...
Read more