Last night, I went out with Melissa, Dr. Normy, Kerilyn and Jaron. It being the weekend, I was taking a break from wearing pants. We went to dinner, then to the W lounge. As we pulled up, we saw the infamous limo that meant just one thing… Limo Dave was there! The window rolled down, and he told us to jump in. We all piled into the limo and Dave proceeded to feed us shots of tequila. After getting a nice head start on our buzz, we made our way into the club.
I must say… if you want to find a place to have a few drinks and absorb some rather irresistible grooves on a saturday night – W lounge is the place. The DJ was just KILLING it… the whole place was moving. There was something tribal about the vibe in there… the music was almost hypnotic, everyone was moving, smiles were common. We ran into Joe. Let’s talk about Joe and his epic party pad for just a moment:
There is a place in SLC that is notorious for great parties… it’s an apartment in a high end high-rise in downtown Salt Lake City. The apartment is well appointed with great carpet, very chic seating, and granite counter tops, but that’s where the boring stops. The 25th floor view gives an uncommon vista of the city. A disco ball shaped like a penis and balls slowly showers the dimly lit space with specks of light. The TV and stereo play a continuous loop of very tasteful, soft core lesbian porn set to electro & house music. 3 holes in the ceiling of the living room exist where the stripper poles used to be mounted. They’ve been judiciously moved into the bedroom and bathroom. Above the bed is a stuffed & mounted boar’s head – it’s smiling, wearing a top hat & feather boa. Opposite of this is a painting of Elvis as a skeleton, as he probably looks today. Leopard print, animal furs, feathers, mirrored walls, and sultry light abound. Gorgeous, sexy women milling around are a common sight. If Hugh Heffner were a 30 something single guy living in Utah, this would be his place.
Not long after last call, we all got in Dave’s limo and went to Joe’s place. Because of the 1 way streets, it was a 10 minute drive that covered a mile or two, though the club and Joe’s apartment are probably about 1000 feet way from each other as the crow flies. Or, as the partier walks. But not us. No. We must take the longest most exorbitant method possible. After all, there are no tequila shots being served on the sidewalk between the club and Joe’s place.
No objections here. I think I probably look pretty cool getting out of that limo, anyway.
The party was actually very chill this night. I drank a lot of water, everyone else drank a lot of whipped vodka. Joe busted out some wine – being an elvis junkie, this particular bottle had elvis on the label. It was some indeterminate california cabernet – and it tasted like sewage. Sorry to break it to you Joe: I’d just keep the remaining bottles of that Elvis vintage as shelf decor.
Melissa and co decided that it was time for them to leave. I was torn on whether or not I should stay – Joe insisted that I stay, which I did. He’s an interesting character and I intend on learning a few lessons from him. Not long after this, however, the party came to an end. I met a dude that happens to live a block away from me, and he gave me a ride home. I could have walked a few blocks to my place in my heels, but it would have hurt a bit. We got talking music, and he invited me to come over and check out his place. Cool place #2: He has converted part of an obscure, totally ignorable warehouse in an out of the way industrial corner of town, into a very cool living space. Frankly, this kind of place would be my dream home. I’d love to buy a warehouse in an obscure, forgettable location. I’d do nothing to improve the outside. I’d let the weeds grow totally unabated, I’d leave some old machinery and broken cars on the property. I would certainly NEVER paint it. My goal would be for it to look completely abandoned. On the inside, though… I would transform it into a haven of light. I’d install numerous sky lights, I’d fully explore my fetish for fabulous lighting fixtures. It would feel somewhere in between a metropolitan art gallery and a sophisticated bachelor pad. Someday, perhaps. I digress.
We fired up music. He turned out to be a big Puscifer fan, a topic on which we gushed at length. I introduced him to Mutemath and Steven Wilson. He introduced me to purple kush. I was very hesitant to partake – since my skateboarding accident a few weeks ago, my broken ribs have made moving very painful – coughing can be a near death experience. For some reason, I decided to give it a go this night. I took many hits, and didn’t cough a single time. It was extraordinarily smooth. He got out his guitar and played some of his music for me. I know this is going to sound like silly stoner talk, but try to hear me out. By this time, I was feeling very elevated. As he started playing, I felt connected to the music he was playing in a way that is almost impossible to describe. I felt a spiritual understanding of what he was saying as he played, though it was just instrumental music on the acoustic guitar. I KNEW what he meant by it. Something profound was being communicated. The music was a ride – I was strapped in and loving it. I was reminded that this vessel that our spirits are riding around in, is a glorious thing – BUT – it doesn’t function at it’s highest level by default. With the right chemical assistance, you can hear things in the music – both musical details and spiritual intentions – that otherwise would be lost on the “sober” listener.
Are really even that awake when we are “sober”?
I think we are partially asleep as humans in our default state. It is our privilege as spirit beings, riding around in these jars of clay, to explore the full capability of the body to inform the spirit. It is our privilege and honor to taste more fully of the richness of the world around us in these moments of enlightenment.
Had I left with my friends, I never would have had this marvelous experience. When in doubt, keep in mind that it often pays to linger, or as in the supernal words of Robert Frost:
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
