There are some benefits to my life as it is now.
For example, last night, early evening, my buddy Carlota calls and says “I want to see if I can find this cool park I went to years ago. Acid Park.”
“It’s a four hour round trip out of the city.”
“I don’t actually remember where it is.”
“I’ll put my shoes on.”
So ‘long about ten o’clock, we find ourselves out in rural NC, looking for what would probably best be called an outsider art installation–a bunch of reflective whirligigs, some of them incredibly huge, built by a local artist, supposedly in commemoration of his daughter’s death. (There’s some doubt on the internet, but that’s the established story, anyway.)
And we found it.
And it was fascinating and a little creepy. Tacky, of course, as one might expect, but like Disneyland, the sheer scale of tackiness was almost transcendant. It was also a little disturbing–the trees were full of reflective bits, like hundreds of eyes, and the whole thing smacked of obsession. But very cool to see.
Then we tried to find our way back, took about six wrong turns, got lost, laughed hysterically, sat at an off-ramp trying to google directions with lousy reception until a nice police officer came to find out what our problem was. Carlota’s voice goes up about an octave when she talks to the law. I bit on a knuckle so that he wouldn’t think this helium-voiced woman was transporting a dangerous giggling lunatic. We finally got correct directions, headed home, took a couple more wrong terms, and rolled at last into town.
Can’t imagine doing something like that spontaneously a week or two ago. So there are advantages.
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