Hors d’oeuvres, I’m Not

Angst is something to avoid, at all cost, in my humble opinion. Especially when there’s enough danger lurking around every corner of this earth anyway. So to actively subject yourself to harm shows a lack of something. Fear? A will to live? Good sense, maybe?
The staggering diversity of interests are what makes the human existence so divinely formidable, as well as admirable. But to serve yourself up in someone else’s backyard where danger considers you a mere snack goes well beyond the pale.
A walla go I was on top of my float in the pool out back, bobbing contentedly on top of the azure water, my arms hanging down into the cool depths, my mind a thousand miles away. And as I looked at the shadows on the bottom -hypnotic, fluorescent, concentric circles emanating from my float- I recalled reading a few days ago of yet another surfer dying in Australia, damn near eaten alive, dead well before they got him to the beach after he was tag teamed by a couple of hungry Great Whites. And in my meditative state, it hit me...
I vividly recall being king hell high on mushrooms in a movie theater many moons ago. I was there as a guest of the owner of the theater to see a special preview of a new movie a Hollywood studio was testing in our area, a movie of which I didn’t have a clue to plot or storyline. None. No advance warning. So I took a gamble and along with some others went walking with the kings that night to see what sparks would fly. Stretch those boundaries, go under the surface at the least!
As I sat in my seat I began to feel the first effects of the ‘shrooms. Geezed up and ready, the taste of tin on my rear molars, my brain already expanding, a host of giggles issued forth combined with a most pleasing, vibrant expectation that teased the inner thighs.
The movie started out well enough. No credits, no title, instead opening to a beach at night. Under the moon’s glow a bikini clad girl decided to get naked and take a swim in the bay. Like I said, not a bad start at all, and my brainwaves immediately locked into the bliss this onscreen woman must’ve felt, loving the water as I did, having myself felt the freedom I knew she was experiencing.
As she tread the water, begging her too drunk boyfriend to come join her, the point of view inexplicably went underwater, looking at her lithe limbs in the moonlight from much deeper in the ocean. This ominous music, cellos slowly arpeggiating, began to surface and quicken as we neared the girls legs. Then we were above the surface and looking into the girl‘s smiling face... for just an instant. Knowing in my gut something horrific was about to happen but unable to do a damn thing about it, the skinny dipper suddenly let out a gasp and quickly bobbed in the water, like a cork will do when you’re pole fishing. Whatever had gotten her attention wasn’t altogether pleasing by her reaction. Before my mind could grasp what I’d just seen and heard this woman let out the most horrible of screams and gurgles as she was tossed around the water like a toy. My synapses went to melting, my senses screaming. Still, I couldn’t take my eyes from the screen. Next thing I knew she was slung against a buoy, trying desperately to catch her breath, then whatever was underneath grabbed her again and flung her sickeningly across the surface, like a ragdoll, before quickly jerking her under the water, a most uncomfortable silence following.
The film was “Jaws”, and after viewing that movie, tweaking as hard as I was, I made an immediate, non debatable, irrevocable decision to never step foot into the ocean again. Ever. Thinking back on it, I’m sure I would’ve made the same decision if I would’ve been straight.
And it hit me that here I was, bobbing lazily in the water, fear and angst about as far away as I was from Australia’s Gold Coast where surfers risk life and limb everyday, everytime they leap onto their surfboards. Every motherfucking time.
Like I said... takes all kinds...
I don’t miss the ocean. The salty water tastes like shit. It burns your eyes. The seas are now polluted beyond comprehension. And there are creatures who inhabit that world who will hurt and kill you if necessary, eat you if possible. Their turf, not mine. I leave them to it. I like walking beside the sea, listening to the waves crash on the shore, smelling it, lolling beside it, looking at it, but that’s about the extent of my involvement with it.
I don’t suffer from lack of thrills and chills, either. I have ways to get my ya ya’s out which suit my taste for danger just fine. None of which involve the possibility of getting eaten by a fucking shark.
My world, imperfect as it is, is my turf. I know where the dangers lurk, and I do my best to try and avoid them. So on any given day you’ll catch me out back bobbing in the pool. Safe and sound. An hors’ d’oeuvres? Not in that context, but if you want to bring me one while I bask, bring it on! Like sharks, I’m occasionally hungry, too.
A cruel world we live in, no matter how you look at it.
Imagine being a young, unprotected gazelle on the Serenghetti Plain when a pride of lions decide it’s time to eat? Or a little rabbit frolicking in a Wyoming pasture while a falcon dive bombs from a great height, a nest full of ravenously hungry chicks waiting on her return? Or a baby seal in the Icelandic surf who doesn’t see the orca’s fin rapidly approaching... Consider yourself lucky on the draw you got. There’s lots of ways to go during this life, but eaten alive by another creature has got to be at the bottom of the list. Please...
Here in Austin, Texas, I’m king of my domain. Eat or get eaten? At least it’s my decision. I’ll keep it that way. Angst far at bay. At least until a meteorite strikes the Earth and sends us all to a quick, liquefied death, or a terrorist attack blows me to bits, or eating an oyster gives me a skin eating bacteria, or a car hits me, or a pissed off, malcontented, wingnut shoots me in the head, or a rattlesnake inadvertently bites me while in the wilderness, or I’m struck by lightning, or I’m washed away in a flash flood, or I’m in a plane crash, or I have unprotected sex, or I choke to death on a morsel of food in an expensive restuarant, or trip and fall down a flight of stairs, cracking my skull, or I’m attacked by a vicous mob of rabid porcupines, or...