One day driving along Greeley’s 13th St., I watched a little girl of four or five playing in a front yard.
She was “spinning.” Round and around she would go, arms akimbo, little pink skirt flaring out.
Eventually, she’d get dizzy, lose her balance and fall to the grass, giggling hysterically.
Lots of people like to get dizzy, even grownups.
Kids I knew in junior high had a technique of breathing deeply for a certain period of time, then exhaling and holding the breath. This would bring the boy to unconsciousness and he would fall to the ground.
A variation of this was the brown-paper-bag trick. The technique: Fold a small bag to fit over the mouth. Breathe into it, allowing oneself no fresh air. Deprive the lungs of that life-sustaining oxygen. Fall down into unconsciousness. Sound like fun?
Myself, I never saw the attraction in it.
An advanced form of this has to do with near-strangulation during masturbation and orgasm. Some kids have died from this. I’m thankful to report, this is one thing I didn’t try.
Do you see where this is going?
Does anybody remember the “gas-tank-sniffers?” The technique: Sneak down the street, take the cap off a vehicle gasoline tank, put the mouth against the fill tube and breathe deeply.
It will knock you on your proverbial posterior. Is it fun? I don’t really think so, but people I’ve known engaged in this intoxicating practice for years.
There. I wrote the word. Intoxicating. Intoxication.
There’s a drive to achieve intoxication that’s universal among mankind, and has been since the beginning of time.
In both of the American Indian cultures where I’ve lived, there was the Gold or Silver Spray Paint Cult.
Again, the ubiquitous brown paper bag. Spray the noxious aerosol paint into the bag. Try to inhale the vapors that carry the paint without getting an awful lot of paint itself in the nose or throat. Good luck.
I watched this practice in the alleys of Riverton Wyoming and Blackfoot Idaho. The goal was intoxication, and it was very effective.
There was the serious side effect of brain damage. But what the hell. It went well with copious volumes of beer or Thunderbird wine. Authorities could identify the users of spray paint quite easily. (Paint on the hands, nose and lips, oh.)
Some users preferred Gold. Others liked Silver. It’s like the difference between Luckies and Camels. Buy it or steal it at the hardware or hobby store.
But what to do? A man has a right to get good and drunk and kick himself in the head with poisonous chemicals. Right?
Remember airplane glue? Same same. I liked model cars. Other kids liked model airplanes. Some didn’t care so long as there was the glue.
These days for myself, I prefer a shot and a beer times three. Hey. Sick. Unhealthy. Right?
At least I stay away from spinning around on the lawn in the front yard. So far, anyway.
-0-
She was “spinning.” Round and around she would go, arms akimbo, little pink skirt flaring out.
Eventually, she’d get dizzy, lose her balance and fall to the grass, giggling hysterically.
Lots of people like to get dizzy, even grownups.
Kids I knew in junior high had a technique of breathing deeply for a certain period of time, then exhaling and holding the breath. This would bring the boy to unconsciousness and he would fall to the ground.
A variation of this was the brown-paper-bag trick. The technique: Fold a small bag to fit over the mouth. Breathe into it, allowing oneself no fresh air. Deprive the lungs of that life-sustaining oxygen. Fall down into unconsciousness. Sound like fun?
Myself, I never saw the attraction in it.
An advanced form of this has to do with near-strangulation during masturbation and orgasm. Some kids have died from this. I’m thankful to report, this is one thing I didn’t try.
Do you see where this is going?
Does anybody remember the “gas-tank-sniffers?” The technique: Sneak down the street, take the cap off a vehicle gasoline tank, put the mouth against the fill tube and breathe deeply.
It will knock you on your proverbial posterior. Is it fun? I don’t really think so, but people I’ve known engaged in this intoxicating practice for years.
There. I wrote the word. Intoxicating. Intoxication.
There’s a drive to achieve intoxication that’s universal among mankind, and has been since the beginning of time.
In both of the American Indian cultures where I’ve lived, there was the Gold or Silver Spray Paint Cult.
Again, the ubiquitous brown paper bag. Spray the noxious aerosol paint into the bag. Try to inhale the vapors that carry the paint without getting an awful lot of paint itself in the nose or throat. Good luck.
I watched this practice in the alleys of Riverton Wyoming and Blackfoot Idaho. The goal was intoxication, and it was very effective.
There was the serious side effect of brain damage. But what the hell. It went well with copious volumes of beer or Thunderbird wine. Authorities could identify the users of spray paint quite easily. (Paint on the hands, nose and lips, oh.)
Some users preferred Gold. Others liked Silver. It’s like the difference between Luckies and Camels. Buy it or steal it at the hardware or hobby store.
But what to do? A man has a right to get good and drunk and kick himself in the head with poisonous chemicals. Right?
Remember airplane glue? Same same. I liked model cars. Other kids liked model airplanes. Some didn’t care so long as there was the glue.
These days for myself, I prefer a shot and a beer times three. Hey. Sick. Unhealthy. Right?
At least I stay away from spinning around on the lawn in the front yard. So far, anyway.
-0-
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