Saturday night, several dancers with torches ritualistically teased this pyramid of logs, encircled at a distance by two thousand enthusiasts, although one impatient woman yelled, “Just do it!" The neo-pagans danced and pranced and cavorted around the bonfire late into the night.
My own personal highlight occurred when a_ beautiful woman named Pearl approached me. She was in the process of transforming her breasts from fetish to functional by nursing a baby that had been conceived there the year before. During that festival, she had walked in on my performance, bare-breasted, at the precise moment that | uttered the words, “Nice tits.” She assumed that | was referring specifically to her and, | had learned, she was flattered, so now | didn’ t have the heart to disillusion her. But | did write about it in my High Times column, “Brain Damage Control,” ending with this sentence: “I hope she doesn’ t read this.”
Furthermore, at the 20th annual Starwood Festival in 2000, | found myself in front of a microphone on that same stage, and | told that story. Pearl was in the audience, and she was laughing heartily. This time, though, when | said, “Nice tits,” | added, “Okay, now everybody," and
the words came booming back at me: ‘MCE 7/TS!’ ” Later, as | was
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