Sticks of Fire: a Tampa blog

I am totally convinced that Baby Suri is the cutest thing alive. She is an absolutely adorable little muffin-head, and I find her much more appealing than the conventional wispy blond-haired, fat-mouthed good looks of Shiloh Jolie.

So when the Scientologists finally staked their claim in the ‘Burg, you know I was at the party, because I was sorta not-so-secretly hoping Baby Suri would be there. She wasn’t, but whatever.

We got there a little late. The soirée started at five and we arrived around eight. Off-duty cops, on-duty cops, firemen, even bouncer-about-town Frankie, were there. (Best exchange of the night - “Frankie, are you a Scientologist now?” “No, dear, I’m protecting the Scientologists.” Awesome!)

All types of very assured people were milling about outside and there was definitely a vibe. The girls, I noticed, walked with incredible confidence - super-worked thetans, I guess - and had lovely semi-formal dresses on. The gentlemen were all very clean-cut and healthy with that really smooth look that comes from always getting enough sleep and never letting smoke or sun near you. Everyone looked really wonderful, as though they eat a perfect food pyramid all the time.

And probably they do, because as we learned on our tour, the first dynamic of Scientology is the self. I was nodding right along with that one, but my companions were starting to look a little nervous, shifting around a bit with darting eyes. Our tour guide, Josh, kept everyone half-heartedly engaged by asking repeatedly if we were getting what he was saying, although I have to admit, I totally dug his spiel. The first dynamic is the self; the second is sex and family, and, well, hmm, a bunch about animals and mankind and then attaining spiritual perfection. The priorities seemed just right somehow, although I guess it’s pretty obvious I didn’t dig it enough to remember it beyond self and sex.

Then, he took us to the E-meter, which was so, so exciting. It should be noted that Scientology declares a point system for various states of being and enthusiasm gets the most points, so I was pretty happy about that, too, because, you know, hooray, bonus points for attitude! Josh gave me the E-meter canisters and told me to think about different people in my life.

He wanted me to take off my splint, so that the metal wouldn’t interfere with the reading, but I told him that couldn’t really happen, and, besides, I have a metal plate in my hand, anyway, so what good is taking off the metal sheath gonna do? I think I made a really good variable - if you wanted to apply the scientific method to this, which, hmm, maybe you don’t.

But, anyway, I thought about my dad and Lil Sis and the Ex and Leslie and DJ Mega and Amber and Aaron and Jenny and James and just sorta kept going through the list of my friends and people I love and the E-meter got lower and lower, because I was getting all calm and happy. Then, I just sorta naturally had to start thinking about other people, because there are only so many people in the world to think about, so I thought about Bandit and the E-meter went whoosh! over to the other side instantly!

Now the reason for this seems really obvious to me. This weekend, I fell asleep in the Gulf out on David’s boat, and I was all drowsy and comfy - and a little woozy from painkillers and the natural rocking of the Gulf, anyway - when Bandit called me. I picked up, half-dazed, and he started saying the absolute filthiest things I can imagine. I mean, I haven’t talked to him since who knows when and then he comes up with this insane raunch outta nowhere and, needless to say, it woke me right up, but nothing came of it, well, because I was out on a boat and, thus, the magic influence of questions like, “I gotta Porsche. You haven’t seen it yet. Do you want me to come get you?” is dissipated pretty easily by a mile of water.

But Josh the Scientologist seemed to think this was incredibly important. “Who are you thinking of?” he asked over and over again, until, finally, I told Leslie, “Mmm, yeah, Bandit, huh?” She was decent enough to turn around and hide what was later some appropriately disbelieving giggles. Josh was really intense about the idea that Bandit is a source of stress for me, but I think what he was missing is that the E-meter just seemed to be reading electrical impulses, not necessarily terrible, life-wrecking stresses.

‘Cause, c’mon now, first off, I could totally feel the E-meter canisters zap-zapping away at my metal splint, right at the base of my ring finger, where they made contact. The impulses charged up my finger the whole time I was holding onto the things, so let’s not act like this machine, as cool as it is, is anything beyond a basic measuring device. It can quantify, but it really can’t qualify. Secondly, when Josh told me to think about Bandit some more, I totally didn’t. I just thought about making the E-meter go off the charts and, whaddaya know, it did! Josh was very satisfied with the exercise, though, and, honestly, I have to say I was, too.

Everybody else went, too, and then they ushered us over to take a multiple-choice test involving lots and lots and lots of questions, which the Full Heart - such a sweetie! - totally got ready to take. He all sat down and everything, filling stuff out, and it turned out to be a very good thing that I chose that moment to simply skedaddle and Leslie and his girlfriend hauled him off, because, apparently, he thought he had to take the quiz to get into the party, which was definitely not true.

Although, by the time we finished the Scientology tour, the party at Don Leoncio was basically over. We said hello to Eddie (big ups for getting us on a list with John Travolta’s name, even though he was nowhere in sight), had a glass of wine and went to the Old NE Tavern to meet Jenny and James for dinner.

The entire evening was quite enchanting in a surreal way, and I think it’s probably a really good thing that I get to test out my full-force robot hand on Friday and that my back is better enough to stop taking all that damn Vicodin, because I was maybe, just a little bit, hoping that the Scientologists would cure my ills, but it turns out I don’t need ‘em.

Unless, of course, the Scientologists are the reason I feel so much better today!

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