The Sun Machine is Coming Down, And We’re Gonna Have a Party

I’m home! So far I’ve gone on a job interview, bought a hula hoop, and gotten very moderately drunk with Reg and Carlene. The hula hoop is awesome, while walking around Greenbelt in my corporate job interview garb with the hoop around my shoulder, Reg said I looked like a stripper (thanks). Then I found out from that it’s a foot and a half too small for me, so I have to make my own using a PVC pipe; after all, hooping is serious business. So if there’s anyone out there 4’7″ and under who would like to place dibs on a red, white, and blue hoop, feel free to take this one off my hands.

Why hula hooping? Why not. Along the way, I realized that being employed puts food on the table and airfare in the bank; but it doesn’t necessarily guarantee a huge degree of fulfillment, as opposed to so-called success or accomplishment. I’ve complained incessantly about the boredom and the repetitiveness, but it’s a means to an end.

The thing is, I really can’t tell anyone what success looks like from my perspective. I know I’d be a bundle of nerves if I had to survive from paycheck to paycheck, so I guess success involves dodging bankruptcy. I also know that success has a lot to do with not going hungry and having the option to stay warm and dry come rainy season; but that can’t be all there is to it, right? I don’t know how it’s come to this, where it’s easier to recognize failure over success. Reg put it best when she said, “I can’t tell you what I want or what my dreams are, but I can tell you what my house will look like.”

I forgot who it was, but I read an interview in which some woman made it very clear that the worst thing a parent could do is live vicariously through his or her children. The worst thing you can do is place parameters on someone else’s dreams. Dreams are highly personal, but that’s often forgotten in favor of the “dreams” we allow society to craft for us: the house, the insurance policy, the promise of immortality or something like it, the endless list of academic credentials, and the list goes on.

Besides, hula hoops are fun. They’re round, if crafted correctly they’re practically unbreakable, and unless they’re doused in gasoline or made of sandpaper, they can’t cause any serious injuries. And when used correctly, they look and feel infinite–even in the most mundane way. So right now success is keeping a ring of PVC around my waist. My record so far is something like 5 seconds, so I’ve got a long way to go. Success is perpetual motion.

I’ve seen the Flaming Lips live and confirmed that Wayne Coyne is made of man bits. Now I want to learn to use a hula hoop correctly. But I/we/you and I will always, always travel.

“We scanned the skies with rainbow eyes and saw machines of every shape and size.”

I love David Bowie.

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