HOWLING AT THE MOON

Who procured the spirits?”

They act familial, accents spouting through remarkably British teeth, their proclivity for words like procure and spirits a testament to European haughtiness, and they carry pâté, and share it, on crackers, with lifted pinkies.

“I have the beverages.  We’re simply lunatics for navigating this knoll to witness this lunar event.”

If there was a market for pretension, they’d be tycoons.

We are seated, rocky outcropping, waves crashing below, several seagulls testing the winds, and an apparently angry seal barking the sun into submission.  The air has a chill about it.   Intergalactic reports state the moon will reach its apsis tonight, and the damn thing will be worse than a neighbor’s voyeuristic flashlight peering through your window.  Thus, the stargazers.

What is it about cosmic events that draws our attention?  Does the moon appearing a few inches larger on the horizon really capture our fantasies the way the Oscars or the Olympics do?  I guess it’s the idea of something beyond our control, distant enough that we might attribute something religious to it, or worse.  Maybe we stare out there with our wine glasses and $30-a-bite caviar and imagine mankind’s conquering of space – sans the folks who think Aldrin and Armstrong were hitting the hookah too hard on a Saturday night – or we worry this little satellite might tug on our tides too hard and cause coastlines to change.

Of course, I am here too, staring across the swells, watching the reflective light bounce across the water, listening to the mildly retarded tones of English slurring, huddled beneath my windbreaker, snapping photos on an iphone, and wondering when the hell I joined the crowd.

Lunartics (def) people who make treks up small mountains to see something that happens every 28 days, just because it’s 14% bigger.

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By ccxander

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