An August weekends musings

It's a rainy weekend here. The sky grows dark and the thunder echoes through my bedroom window as I stagger to the kitchen for a brew of coffee. The rainy coolness has a blue jay busy at the feeder when I go to fire up the trusty java maker. What to do today? I contemplated this as I sipped and stared at the doings of nature playing out in the front yard and in the woods distant. Something different, something my wife and I could do that isn't a chore, or something that needs to get done, that isn't a re-make of every other weekend we happen to have together. A not too frequent occurrence on my schedule. Maybe a show, I thought? The Mississippi gulf coast has become like a mini Las Vegas strip since the early 90's, why not take advantage of it? Pulling up the Beau Rivage, a casino located in Biloxi, not more than a 45 min drive away, and one that I've had the pleasure to see George Carlin live (back in 03'), Stomp, and River Dance in years past. Why not? It's raining, there was some money in the bank, and a live show would be different than mowing the lawn, pulling kudzu vines off everything, washing the boat, watching the bugs eat my crop, cleaning the house, and everything else we usually find necessary to make life livable. I see that there's this show playing by the description posted is similar to Cirque du Solei, perhaps I'm not spelling that right, that I missed back when they was last touring the coast a few years ago. It had a sexy woman with hoola hoops to showcase the spectacle that was showing at 3pm.

That was good enough for me, and my wife seemed happy to go with the plan. Despite what they say about marriage, sometimes there is a consensus.

We got in our car, a quickly aging conveyance closing in on two hundred thousand miles, that my wife calls "little red." It's a hatch back Toyota Matrix with plastic fenders that rattle when the speeds exceed forty miles and hour. It's good on gas, or at least I say that now when gas is still affordable. We arrive at the Beau Rivage early despite the insanity that is interstate driving, a zig-zagging chorus of rudeness and chaos. Defensiveness has become a imperative for survival, or maybe it always has been that way. We park at the highest level of their stacked parking garage that it seems the employee's use too as we notice waiters, cooks, and tellers drone out of their cars in uniform, their personals in shoulder bags, purses, and packs. A cool breeze blows in from the Gulf of Mexico as a wet sky storms near the horizon. I notice none of them even takes the time to see the sky and all its rapture. Their text messaging taking priority. I look at mine drawing it forth from pocket, a now outdated iphone3, its back cracked from being dropped too many times. Is this a chink of the chain that has me too preoccupied for what really matters? I suppose, I suppose what I now write is part of that as well. We walk and get into the elevator which has a camera trained on our heads. My privacy already invaded by obedient choice. Down in the casino lobby it seemed busy, people coming in with their luggage for a weekend stay, the line at the bathrooms which had sharp containers for the diabetics, and women dressed up in finery milling in the overpriced casino stores. I suggested we go to the coffee shop for some mocha and conversations before getting in line at the ticket office. The mocha espresso came in a pleasant textured cup, a woody spoon to stir with, and protective plastic cap to protect more delicate palates. I chose instead to drudge the concoction dipping my facial hair in with the whip cream. The hotness losing its bite through the colder topping made a well temp brew. Our communion fell to the topic of failed dreams, and my many regrets, the chips I carry around like so many bruises. Perhaps appropriate since she chastised me for wearing blue shorts with a black shirt, saying that I looked like a bruise before coming to the casino, all in good jest mind you. My dream was always to be a physician and to be a father. It looks more and more like I will die never having fulfilled any of those personal ambitions. What percentage was my fault, and what percentage did destiny kill? My dark thoughts were too heavy for a preamble to the entertainment that we were seeking to enjoy so I got off the subject. Other couples sat quietly with nothing to say around us. Marriage has it's way of speechlessly communicating.

The theatre had this smoky haze that added suspense as we waited for the show to begin. I had managed to get good seats, near the stage, but not so near to be hit by a snapped cable and a shocked trapezist. People used their phones to preoccupy the inevitable boredom of waiting, and young kids bobbed up and down in their seats with unrestrained energy powered by too much high fructose corn syrup. The thirty minute wait didn't seem too long with all the people watching I was doing, like a trip at the zoo. "Look at the humans!" I thought, as though I was an alien to my own species. The show began with a bang, booming music, and vibrating stages. A short man wearing an inflatable circus suit emerges from the floor, his hair a crazy style not easily described, who sported a selling grin. His spoofs had the crowd, and us, laughing gaudily at his mime style humor introducing the acrobatic show, his own dexterity and skill not lacking. A gorgeous sexy woman comes out wearing a suit that makes her appear naked but decorated in tribal goth symboledge that then grabs long curtains that attach with cables to the ceiling high overhead. Oh man, did she put on a death defying show that had me gripping the seats whenever she'd do this amazing flip that left her free falling down to her ankles only to be caught by her tense feet hooking the curtains. Between the Braveheart style music and the rich wardrobe enticing women it left me more than entertained. One set proceeded to the next with stunts of all sorts that had everyone clapping. Adults and kids both enthralled by the feats that few in the world could ever do. Bodies well disciplined and worked over into immaculate physiques. One particular act featured two muscled men that towered and tilted with each other into handstands and sick positions that seemed impossible. Positions that took amazing feats of strength, the pains of which shown in their strained countenance. Then there was this women you could see every cut and muscled shadow etched in delicate relief as she twisted and torqued around a pole, her legs at one point so flexible and stretched she could surpass the well known split - and then beyond - into a wondrous feat of dexterous physicality. Wow, what specimens! I look at the crowded theatre, at myself, and feel woefully inferior. I think of the descriptions Europeans had of the "savages" and what fine specimens were they, and think of what had been lost.

The show couldn't go on forever. Completely entertained we took ourselves from the theatre and headed back home talking about all that we had seen. I chose to drive the coastal highway along the beach to see the many changes since Katrina. None of the Yacht clubs had returned, their docks and moorings empty with weeds growing through their parking lots. The live oaks looked a struggle, their ancient limbs bearing a still injured canopy, and their trunks bearing scars and rips. I counted the dead ones that some local artist had chainsawed and chiseled into beautiful carvings depicting birds, turtles, and fish.

http://chroniclesofacountrygirl.blogspot.com/2010/04/katrina-sculpture-project-in-biloxi-ms.html

A dozen by the time we reached Bay st. Louis? I swore to myself to take the bike down next week and give an accounting with digital camera. A little adventure to see the coastal scars, and plus it would be fine exercise. A fine specimen I was not......