Love in the ‘70s

Love in the ‘70s

I saw a woman on the street today on my lunch break that reminded me of myself in the ‘70s. Pretty, stoned, with a look of desperate need for love in her eyes.

It wasn’t hard to get into the psychedelic “drug culture” as they call it now of the 1970s. What would have been hard was avoiding it.

Having become too famous for the passing laws on the West Coast in the 1960s (you know, free-love, Haight-Ashbury, communes, love-ins and the like) I was ordered by the bully among us (*cough*Athena*cough*) to relocate in 1969. I’d been adored very much like I used to be by the stoners, acidheads and other drug-using hippies in the ‘60s. I never encouraged it, but they simply saw something in me and loved me, each and every one of them. I’ll admit, I got drunk on the attention, but never partook of any drugs. Knowing it would take me ten times the amount it would take a mortal to get high, I simply said no or pretended to join in.

But when I was forced to move, I chose NYC and fell for the disco lifestyle. Beautiful women, confident men, all looking for love, even if just for a few minutes.

It only took a few weeks of clubbing for me to accept a line in the lady’s room. I saw the self-love in cocaine users’ eyes and wanted to feel that too. I wanted to love myself like no one else could – and I did. And I wanted to share that love – and I did that too, a lot.

That’s what I saw in this strung-out woman’s face – the desperation to fit in and the sad knowledge that whatever drug she’s hooked on is the very thing that keeps her from fitting in. Which depresses her and makes her want to do more.

Thank god I got out when I did.

The Battle of the Atlantic Yards

As David Krumholtz said in my favorite movie, "The Shit hath Hitteth the Faneth," folks.

I SO don't miss this type of excitement. Just as we were discussing how to figure out who's been leaving the cryptic messages on Dio's blog -- and whether the writer is the new priestess of the Oracle -- Xipe ran in to tell us that the woman had come in and then been kidnapped by Epimetheus!

He'd tracked them to the Atlantic Yards and Epi was holding the girl hostage until Thena came to talk to him.

Thena dragged me and Heph -- Xipe was eager to go, hoping for a rumble, shall we say -- to what turned out to be the dirtiest place above ground in Brooklyn -- the Atlantic Yards. Half construction site, half railroad, nothing for as far as the eye can see but dirt and rails and scaffolding. Yucht.

Poor Epi -- he never learned to think ahead, did he? After another rousing chorus of Thena-knows-best speeches, Epi gave up the poor girl -- it's hard enough to be the Oracle's priestess when you know what's coming, let alone when you're taken over without warning.

Cybil is her name and she seems nice enough, but she'll have hard times ahead -- once the Oracle chooses you, there's no saying "No thanks."

Back to Epi.

Thena loves having an excuse to chop off heads (not of mortals, of course) -- and hates having to put them back on. Luckily, she did long enough for Epi to reveals that...the shit hath hitteth the faneth. Apparently EVERYONE is out of Tartarus! EVERYONE.

Let's get one thing straight. I love a good battle as much as the next gal. But it was just more fun when we were minor participants butting in every now and then to give humes advice. I may complain, but I like my life right now. Boring but easy job. Small but cozy apartment. Pixie, who thinks she's a giant and still piddles on the floor but whom I love with all my heart. Men who want to love me. And a family I can always turn to, even if I'm not BFF with them.

Now that everyone's out, something else is sure to go wrong.

And we still haven't figured out that future news story Cybil blogged, with the town that's paralyzed? Thena's gonna look into it, stop in on the Seattle crew and see what their take is on everything.

But, basically, I fear there're more rumbles to come. Sigh.

Di and dice

Tonight -- a Sunday of all nights -- I gave in to the peer pressure from the old gang and left my warm, comfy Park Slope studio to travel 20 blocks (by BUS, can you imagine? Next relocation I must find myself a better-paid persona!) for board game night at Dio's dive (now THAT's a great name for a cheesy pub, don't you think?), The Delphi Bar.

A hume hosts it, one of Dio's regulars and unconscious victim of his charm. I think he likes the attention but -- now that he's forsworn his frat-boy ways of yore -- he's trying to keep her at bay without losing her business.

Xipe has been grumbling to me for awhile about the influx of "young blood" as he calls it -- mortals -- and seems to blame them for the lack of godly clientele recently. Personally, I think he's just annoyed that Dio finally made him cave and add the vegetarian nachos -- just as cheesy but much more work-intnesive than the ground-chuck variety -- to the menu that his regulars have been begging for.

Game night itself was not as boring as I thought it would be. My favorite was Trivial Pursuit -- the men on the opposing teams (and a few of the women -- that's the neighborhood for ya, 'natch) were so eager to declare each of my answers correct -- and my opponets unwilling to argue -- that Thena had to throw a fit (okay, not really a FIT) and insist that she ask all questions (and check the veracity of all answers). I know I'm not the smartest of my peers, but I seem to have a little more power over others (it's called a smile, ladies, among other assets) than the more surly among us.

Yay me!