Life without humour is hollow. I should be grateful, then, that mine is rich in so much of it. Humour with irony-ist leanings, if you will. Fifty shades of irony, give or take. Because of this, you find yourself in certain scenarios that you feel are dire, which you then leave, reflect fondly upon, then repeat. I find myself in this very situation dawning on me in a matter of days, and I can assure you that while now I’m laughing, there was a time when that wasn’t so.
Once upon a time, I was a performer in my old band, doing bump n grind, sideshow chicanery, hosting and the odd bit of flimflam. For six years I spent a great deal of time in a small vehicle on long drives, travelling from venue to to venue to do a little razzle dazzle, and drink them dry of gin. When I first started, I loved it. I wasn’t anchored to home, so wherever I lay my head was home to me. Over time, the dynamic of our group changed, and it eventually got to a point where I was no longer off on a grand adventure, I was sealed in vehicle with a bunch of lunatics as crazy as I was for going on this voyage. I began to get homesick for Vancouver, my own bed, and my non-band friends. The change had happened.
I later did some small tours with Sweet Soul Burlesque, but I found that it was a little soon for me to be back on the road, but I returned with the ladies. I didn’t realize I had such an aversion to it. It wasn’t until that first year I went to Bass Coast, and while the fact I’d had nothing to eat except psychedelics all day long might have played a role, it took Crystal Precious the better part of an hour to coax me out of the RV. That same RV died a horrible death on our way home from Shambhala in the Slocan Valley later that summer, stranding myself and two other ladies on the side of the road in the Kootenays. We did get home, eventually, but my stress level was exceptionally high and with my serotonin levels being slightly out of whack from the festival prior, it took a while to recover.
However, my memory has a tendency to be highly selective. For instance, I can remember all of Kitty Pryde’s aliases but I can’t remember why I left the house and went to the market. I can also recount my high school locker combination, but I can’t remember if I locked the window. This has plagued me for years, and likely will continue to do so. It’s lucky, because if I didn’t have this gift/affliction, then I’d have likely not taken the job to be in Mania or Desolation. I might have just stomped my raccoon paw and said, ‘Knickers!’ and that’d have been the end of it. But the sneaky little strange-luck faery that has nipped my heels my whole life dealt my memory and blow, and I agreed.
I had my usual seasonal panic that comes when I’ve overbooked myself around this time of year. I had a minor meltdown that involved drinking red wine and doing lots of yoga inversions and heavy breathing. But now that the fog of fear has lifted, I’m free to enjoy the experience. When I reflect on that time I spent on the road, I realize I was still figuring myself out, was very creatively frustrated and felt limited. I was in an unhappy relationship, and I’d never done anything like that before. Now I’ve had four years off from the gypsy life, and like an old lover that you are doomed to return to like a boomerang, I hear the siren song of the road call to me.
“Come to the road, Risky,” it coos. “It’s different this time. You’ve missed it out here, haven’t you?”. So, the road is seducing me back to her. I won’t lie, I’m looking forward to not only getting back out there to travel, explore, and experience, but create with a skeleton crew some really cool art. Adventures await, new friends beckon, and stories are waiting to be born. And much like that lover you keep going back to, when we travel out and pass through the asphalt arteries of the continent, it’s like that horizontal mambo that you know so well. That way you know each other’s nooks and crannies, but always with something fun and new to experience together.
In our showgirl circle we joke that we are married to the stage. I say I like to cheat on the stage with the silver screen now. But, in truth, it’s the road that I’ve always had the most tempestuous love/hate relationship with. Given that we are in the heart and soul of Scorpio season, and incidentally, around the time I shift to another year older, that it’s the perfect time to rekindle this old flame. Every time she burns me, I come back, up out of the ashes anew, ready to shake a fresh Phoenix tail feather.
See you out there in the world, lovers and sinners.
Little Miss Risk
PS: Am rewatching The Life And Hard Times Of Guy Terrifico to get in the mood. I highly recommend it.