Riding the Slipstream

[*Warning: This post may contain words dating back to another era*] The 1st of September is traditionally celebrated as Spring Day in South Africa. And to mark this rather wicked occasion, the entertainment committee at my company has decided to celebrate in it style. Now Sept 1 is not to be confused with the SPRING EQUINOX (22 September) which is of course the official’ first day of the Season of Spring (incidentally also the birthdays of Frodo and Bilbo Baggins)– when the Sun crosses the Equator moving southward. For most ppl here, 22 September is of little significance and will most likely only get a mention at the end of the 8 o’clock news bulletin. Seeing as 1 Sept falls on a Thursday, the committee, in a wise and unprecedented move, decided to move the celebrations to Friday the 2nd. Unreal, man! The Chitster likes a good celebration. String the words party, celebrate and booze together in one sentence and you have my immediate and undivided attention. What can I say? A good plan needs very little convincing and I didn’t get out much when I was a child. . There is however a condition attached to this party. It has a theme! And this year’s theme is… (strike that triangle, Bertha) FLOWER POWER! All the employees (including those we have resigned) are required to dress up in sixties/seventies regalia and pay tribute to the counterculture movement. Now I think the hippies of the 60’s and 70’s were awesome, but that is just it … they were awesome in the 60’s and the 70’s. Who wants to dress up like a hippie in 2005? Seemingly, a lot of people do! Flower power and the spring day celebration…what a stretch of the imagination. I bet it took all of one joint to come up with that gem. I think Mrs. [B], who heads the entertainment committee, is a member of the neo-hippie movement. That would explain the love beads on her wrist. I got my eye on you Mrs[B]… so don’t tempt me! When I asked about other aspects of the hippie culture such as recreational drugs, free love, spiritualism and wild sex orgies, I was told to mellow out and leave the planning to those who know what they are doing. There will be prizes for the best dressed cat and chick. When I discreetly enquired (again) if the marijuana leaf tattooed on my right butt cheek counts as flower power… it was met with a scowl that would make even Donald Rumsfeld flinch. So much for that brilliant plan! They say when you can’t beat them… join them. So I have decided to play along and dress up (dress down?) in my finest threads… torn bellbottom jeans, raggedy paisley shirt, flip-flops, and bandanna. I will adorn my face and arms with day-glo flowers and whatever other groovy symbols signify the sixties. BUT… I will however draw the line at Bob Dylan’s music. I hear one Bob Dylan song played at the party and I will strip down to my underwear and show off my tattoo!! (Do you hear me, Mrs. [B]?) Far out, man! Let’s bring on the Summer of Love. And if you get tired of the listening to the psychedelic 60s tunes, take the stairs up to the roof. I will be the one holding the bong, chatting to Bob Marley and John Lennon and dancing to the tune of Burn Baby Burn! Dig it?