There is a little sushi place here in town that I love, Rocket Sushi. I know the name makes it sound as if it might be all cream-cheesy tempura rolls, but it is not at all. The sushi chef there is great and provides me with slices of fresh raw fish to sustain myself through the long summer nights. That, and he makes miso soup with truffle oil, little tasty mushrooms, and crab.
Delicious, and all of that is before the cold sake and beer.
I went last night. I couldn't take this feeling that I have had of living a life of moderate restriction for almost four days, so I splurged.
Speaking of splurges, I may be going to Burning Man in two weeks. I started looking at tickets and a parking pass yesterday. There are still a few things to consider, and I am on the fence about going at all, but the winds are shifting. The sails on my bike are gradually lifting me towards the dry lakebed in the sky. There are many haters, some that would have me reduce my carbon footprint by not going at all... They would deprive me of the pleasure of drinking warm red wine in the sun while sitting inside of a Boeing 747, high on ecstasy.
Why can't I just be one of the burners that doesn't really give a shit about the future of the earth or corporate non-profits like Black Rock City, LLC? You know, a simple burner that involves themselves in the more spiritual pursuits of intoxication.
We'll see.
Before arriving at the sushi place last night I tried again to make it all the way up the mountain to the west. Sonoma Mountain. I failed, but my heart nearly burst trying. It must be good for me, that exhaustion that occurs deep in the vital organs. That screaming for mercy that is indicative of a serious circulatory issue of some kind, or organ failure. If you have never tried using a mountain bike to ride up a mountain then you are doing it wrong. Any fool can ride down a mountain.
I sweat out some of the bad spirits trying to hit the summit. These embodiments of evil leave the surface of my skin in generous cupfuls of man-sweat. My whole physique is an accretion of wrinkled, loose skin, like a long-sleeve scrotum stretched over what used to be my head and chest. It pleases the Roman deities that I also sweat as if I am buried suffocating inside a pair of summer blue jeans.
I am nearly at my target weight, my goal, my preciousness.... 200 pounds or below. I've been within two or three pounds of it for a week now. It has been almost a decade since I've been below that seemingly unbreakable fat-floor. I expect to be at 170 lbs upon returning from Burning Man.
We'll see.
I've been told that trying to lose weight at Burning Man is dangerous, but that's stupid. Those environmental factors play perfectly in to the needs of a crash diet - intense and unforgiving heat, sandstorms, lack of bearings, mitigated communication, dehydration, wandering from the group, hotbox port-a-potties. All of that stuff will help you become thin and beautiful. If I do go, I plan on giving a series of impromptu lectures on playa survival. It will focus on the spiritual requirements of abstinence and the many variations of sin that can be found in relentless self-pleasuring.
It will be mostly a recap of last year's lectures titled, "Radical Self-Servings (all you can eat)."
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