Lucas Meets Mushrooms It was a dark and stormy night, and if I ever begin a story like that again, you are authorized to shoot me on sight. Actually it was a bright, sunny Los Angeles day in May 2003. By that time, I was fully aware that I would not be returning to USC the next fall, though I desperately wanted to more and more with each passing day that I spent there. Anyway, I knew I had to make the most of my time by not going to class, taking finals, or even sleeping much, but instead by trippin' balls and going to museums. My partners, or accomplices, on this trip were Spike "Man with a Plan" Fasto, and Rachel Motherfuckin Kelley. Both awesome, both had weird pink skin tones and green eyes. Oh, that was the mushrooms, and I'm not talkin' portabella. None of us had a car, in that city, at least, but Rachel had shrooms and Spike a bus schedule. We were on our way. It had been decided beforehand, obviously not by me, that we should go to the J. Paul Getty Museum, wherever the hell that is in Southern California. I guess they got some nice pictures there or something, I didn't really pay attention. Like I said, trippin' balls. At first, I had feared that these mushrooms would have little to no effect on me, due to my ridiculous tolerance of alcohol and marijuana, but what the hell, peer pressure has never steered me wrong before. We began consuming them on the last bus before Getty (I believe we had to take 3 or more). Spike's not good about being quiet, which actually doesn't bother me in the least, and so he was first to describe his symptoms, I'm sure you can imagine. Yeah, yeah, I'm still getting nothing. We locate and board a tram to the museum (it's on a hill, and there's a monorail from the parking lot up). Apparently they're not down with walking 'round them parts, but I'm not complaining. The whole tram ride, I'm still straight as an arrow, but intrigued by Spike and Rachel. Rachel just seems stoned, and Spike seems to be in an enlightened state of perception, and they're obviously not faking, as I'd suspect many of my acquaintances of doing. We enter the museum, and awesomely, we don't have to pay. In LA, they have this weird concept of not charging college students admission to places like that. Settle down, Rochester, they gouge you everywhere else. Except cigarettes are less than $4 a pack, sometimes. Off topic� So we get in there and Spike and Rachel have to go to the bathroom. I wait on a bench across the hall. Is that wall moving? No, it's just a reflection of some people in the foyer. Mouth's dry. Where the hell are they already? Oh right, bathroom. There's usually a water fountain near public restrooms, let's see here� bingo. Oh hell, I have to get up to drink, don't I? Groan� Geez, why the hell does everything have to be so complicated in this city? Oh, that button. This water isn't very cold. Not very warm either. Beggars can't be thirsty�or something. Now why do I hear funky techno beats when unsipped water returns to the fountain? That's right, I'm trippin'. But wait, I was fine a second ago�wasn't I? Cooooool� That wall's definitely moving now. I better go lean against it to make it stop. Several blackouts occur. The following is what I remember, though it may not necessarily be the order in which these events occurred, and I may even splice it with memories of a non-intoxicated trip to the Norton Simon museum. We're on the top floor of one of many buildings. We ascended the stairs, made a full revolution of the floor and found ourselves once again at the stairs when Spike asks, "How did we get here?" I couldn't tell if he was being esoteric, poignant, or literal, so I chose literal, easiest answer. "We took the stairs, Spike." He responded with something to the tune of "Fuck you." Hours, maybe seconds, pass and we're outside, at least Rachel and I are (we lost Spike a bunch of times), and we're convinced that not only is a security guard following us, but that he also looks exactly like Verne Troyer, only more approximating normal height. Trust me, this guy was freaky and he was EVERYWHERE. Rachel was really quiet the whole time, but very pensive, and, at times, sad. I don't recall making much of an effort to get her to open up, but she was definitely the focus of the entire trip. Enter the next blackout memory. All of a sudden Rachel and I are in a corner of a dimly lit, but populated room. Probably Degas on the wall or something, who cares. She was sitting in a stool, why it was there, I don't know, and we were expressing ourselves labially, i.e., making out, rather slowly and calmly. I'd fallen in love with her some time beforehand, as in days, not minutes, but that "session in the dark room" quickly became the greatest however long a period of time it was in my life. Blackout. Definitely hours later. Late afternoon. Santa Monica. Corner of I Forget and Never Really Gave A Damn. This is where I notice that Rachel and especially Spike have pink skin and light green eyes. I'm talking where the whites of the eyes are usually white. Yeah, they're green. And his normally blond hair is now yellow-green. Pull out the 128-box of Crayola and see what I'm talking about. Everyone else around is as normal as they pretend to be (this is Santa Monica, remember). Amazingly, I kept my conversations with, and even antagonizations of strangers to a minimum. Anyway, it rained a little bit and Rachel and I stood under an awning. Spike didn't. Weirdo. Well, he might have for a little bit. Can't remember. A little bit later, or before, (who knows?) Rachel had begun crying. Not hysterically, and not even that obviously, but there was no possible way to be closer to someone than I was just then. Efforts to console her were fruitless, so I smacked her around a bit. Gave her something to cry about. Ok, joke. I would never do that. Spike volunteered. Somehow we made it home, and by that time, we were completely de-shroomed, as they say (or, they should, 'cause I just made that up), but I realized that tripping is the greatest thing ever, and I did it with about the greatest people for whom I could have hoped. In conclusion, I don't think I forgot anything important, but if I did, you'll be seeing accounts from Spike and/or Rachel in the near future if I didn't already link them below and forget to edit this text to reflect that. 'Cause I'm dumb like that. Yeah, I would definitely do this again, especially the making out part, and, in fact, I wish I could spend eternity in a state half as euphoric as my peak. Eat your vegetables, kids, especially long-stemmed mushrooms. |