So we decided to recognize the occasion with some homemade moules frites. Fabulous. This the day after a fabulous weekend camping, complete with a bit of actual summer thrown in: sun for more than an hour and temperatures creeping up towards a cool winter in Florida. Today we hit 22 degrees C. That's low 70s in American. There was much rejoicing.
Oh, and for the North American and Alaskan marketing teams that were in a small Scandinavian country recently, we were camping to better experience BIRDS! Terns, to be specific: Sandwich, Common, Arctic, and the elusive Roseate. And a hobby (a small European falcon) thrown in for good measure. So there!
Now, where was I? Oh yes. Shivering in a field surround by 1,200 other buck nak-... First the disclaimer again. If I didn't fulfill the promise of an American R rating in my last post, I will this time. Put the young 'uns back in front of the TV if you don't want to answer some very peculiar questions.
The second set up was a bit more like traditional nude photography. Well, as traditional as a Spencer Tunick event can be. All the men were given white roses, the women red. We were paraded into a neighboring field, again with the castle in the background. We went through several poses this time, including an extended time laying on the dewy grass.
It was during this time, as we bent one way and then the other, that one was confronted with certain anatomical details at close range that might otherwise have gone unnoticed. For instance, Irish men's members are largely in tact. That is to say, they are largely uncircumcised. That's not to say that they are especially large. Just uncut. Furthermore, the fashion for pubic grooming is not confined to women. Plenty of landing strips, and less, for the ladies, as well as more than a few bald beneath the smalls for the lads. And tattoos and piercings in some unholy places for both genders.
I digress.
The second set up was quite a bit longer than the first. And you'd think that stretched out on the ground would've been even more uncomfortable. But we were much more closely packed-in this time around. And for skinny butts like mine, the greater proximity of other bodies made a big difference.
When Spencer gave us the all clear, there was more hooting and hollering and running back to our clothes. But the ladies didn't stay dressed for long; the third set up was girls only. In the meantime, there were several humorous side stories, all around a central theme: where the hell are my clothes? The organizers had given us giant plastic bags in which to stash our belongings whilst in the buff. Upon our return, several poor souls ended up wandering around for up to half an hour looking for them. I overheard the last guy to reunite with his clothes say that he didn't mind being naked at all, until he was the only person naked.
Meanwhile, the ladies went off to a separate wooded garden that was above the fields we'd been in all morning. Their disrobing location was directly above us. Several of them took the opportunity to enhance the occasion with a bit of striptease/booty shake to much enthusiastic cat calling from the blokes. Again, it took me out of the moment for a bit, but really didn't detract from the overall mood of the morning. As we couldn't see the actual photos I've really no idea what their pictures were all about, other than at least one pose involved roses in teeth.
It was then the gents' turn to go solo. Our stage was a creek. But first we had to disrobe, right smack in front of the ladies. The cat calls were boisterous and joyful, and high pitched. Back to the creek. 100 of us were chosen to stand in the creek balls naked. Except, Spencer didn't like the effect, so he then asked us to kneel. Cold? Oh yeah. By that point, however, the cold was no longer the primary concern. The rocks under my knees were much more on my mind. Luckily, the cold numbed that problem soon enough.
In the end, blue skin and indented knees were small price for the feeling of being intensely alive, and of having participated.
Slainte.
