Being the wild child of Zeus with ties to Mount Olympus, I thought the good times would never end. But ever since the decline of Greco-Roman polytheism and now that all my friends are in relationships, no one really parties anymore.
I mean, every now and then we’ll have a few drinks, maybe even four, but nobody’s really unleashing their primal side in a cathartic, even transformative experience of destruction and rebirth.
I used to have a whole cult following of binge drinking satyr-dudes, and sexy maenad-chicks. And now my only single friend is Don. You remember Don, right? With the bongos.
For centuries we had these parties – we called them the Dionysian Mysteries – where we would drink wine or mead and eat mystifying mushrooms. The fireside group of percussionists and flautists would then transport us to a more natural, primal state. I mean, Don isn’t bad at the bongos, but he isn’t transcendence good.
We don’t have Dionysian Mysteries anymore, but the Globe Pub, near my apartment, has trivia night on Tuesdays. When I was there last week my name actually came up, “What is the Roman name for Dionysus?” One guy knew it was Bacchus, but then this other guy says, “Didn’t he look Jim Morrison?” I was horrified, but then he also said, “I guess when I think of Dionysus now I actually picture Val Kilmer.”
Empowered by wildness
Back in the day, my women followers would eat living flesh from a sacrificial animal, with their bare teeth. And now, ironically, the wildest women that I know are vegetarians.
There was something so special about waking up in a forest glen with the noon sun beating down on you, naked cult by your side, once again whole, but with improved perspective, and empowered by wildness. But now, when I pry my married friends away from their wives for one night, and we go into just a little bit of a trance and have even the smallest orgy, forget about it! It isn’t even worth it after all the hell they catch at home. Their wives just can’t handle uninhibited transpersonal gatherings.
And everyone else is just hooking up on Craigslist. Now that’s scary!
As a 5,000 year-old catalyst of ecstatic transformation, it’s not like I don’t mind drinking alone. I love it. But it just makes me wonder if being the God of Wine was really such a smart choice. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m the one who is in a rut, or are my friends the ones who are lame?
Perhaps it is a bit of both.
But I must be changing at least a little bit, because now I’m really in the mood for a wine cooler and a hot bubble bath.
Thanks for reading, subscribing and sharing this satirical comedy with your friends.
Photo Credit: virginia haenn/flickr (statue) and Resedabear/Randy Stern/Flickr (guy with drum)