Fleeting Moments of Meh

I would never have predicted this but my attitude about Burning Man right now is Been There Done That and the Decom next weekend just doesn’t tickle my fancy a whole lot. But that doesn’t make a whole lotta sense. I thought my gig at this stage in life was at least in part to bring out the inner dance art festival revelry guy, the inner hippie child, the emergent sage with the color in his beard and the twinkle in his eye and go grin in the fire dance firelight taking joy and bringing joy in more or less equal measures. Yes. Yes, that must be right. So what is this reluctance, this can’t be botheredness, this fleeting moment of meh that has my wife wondering how the hell she’s supposed to plan anything, huh? Huh?

An instant of laziness, that must be what it is, a momentary disinterest in San Francisco’s freezing cold fog and sea wind, but no. I’ve been there done that a thousand times and never tired of it, never, nor could I ever. There’s something else, there must be, and I know it isn’t the fact that I’m heartily sick and tired of smug long-haired Hippies Generation 2.0 with their hoodies and iPods and grayless beards and that youthful sense of entitlement that has annoyed crusty old fuckers like me since fifty years after the dawn of time, no, that ain’t it. Nor is it the gracefully aging New Agers with their sun-wrinkled faces glowing in the hard-won victorious recognition that here in the waning days of the Dark Age of Bush everything they’ve been saying about oil capitalism and the military state and its industrial complex is finally seen by everyone else to be true. No, no, they don’t bother me, I quit the GOP a year ago or so, I’m over that, yeah I am. Really. Nor am I annoyed by the forced smiles of people who were never There and are desperate to find just for a moment that sense of happiness and belonging they're sure would be theirs if only, if only, and suddenly it's up to me to let it happen. No, I don't have that bad an attitude. Nor am I in any way tweaked that to get to this thing I will have to a) wear some ridiculous costume of the sort I happily wore out in the desert but just am not in the right mind-state for here in the default world and b) will have to wear the damn thing while riding BART and other public transpo to get to this street faire somewhere south of Pac Bell Park. No, no, no … Memories of ridicule riding the bus to an SCA event when seventeen years old while wearing borrowed tights doesn’t play into that at all, no.

No. So, yeah. Just a fleeting moment of meh. There will be others but I’m sure we’ll probably go to this thing next weekend anyhow.