When I feel athletic, I go to a sports bar.
Paul Clisura
One time, I was discussing my hammock proclivities with a good friend. She is very smart, and well read. As we were discussing the details, she turned to me and said “You Sybarite!”
Now, I am male, which I think means we are hard-wired never to admit we don’t know. Ask directions? Not me! Seek advice? Only as a desperate last resort. So I just nodded my head in agreement and our conversation strolled on to other destinations.
When I got to a discreet location, I whipped out my phone and Googled Sybarite. I discovered Sybaris was a city in Southern Italy, located in the arch of Italy’s boot. There, the locals of old were wealthy – and reputedly indulgent. I’ll borrow a description from Wikipedia.
Its inhabitants became famous among the Greeks for their hedonism, feasts, and excesses, to the extent that “sybarite” and “sybaritic” have become bywords for opulence, luxury and outrageous pleasure-seeking.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sybaris
I am not sure I would accept the unmitigated charge of opulence, but the rest has a ring of truth. Luxury on a budget. Hammock lounging is indeed undeniably a pleasure-seeking activity. However, I am very rarely outrageous.
The Sybarites were later overwhelmed by their neighboring city, Kroton, sounding a bit like a Star Trek episode run amok, but the description of Sybaritic behavior contains one of the most bizarre sentences I think I’ve ever read.
Claudius Aelianus even alleges that Smyndirides could not sleep on a bed of rose petals because it gave him blisters.
Claudius Aelianus 1665, 9.24.
Silly boy!
I also mulled over Homer’s tale of Odysseus, who describes an island of Lotus Eaters, whose primary food contained a powerful narcotic that induced dream-like lethargy. He sent in a crack team to check it out. After they did not put in an appearance – after a substantial wait for a busy Captain, Odysseus wound up taking further action.
He dispatched a few more of his crew from the ship to investigate, and discovered that the first mob had decided to join the locals, celebrating the virtues of the local crop, and as a result, wanting nothing to do with further strenuous voyaging.
Oars and oats again this morning? Phaw!
He had them forcibly dragged back to the ship, where they were restrained until the rest of the crew had “smote the grey sea with their oars.”
Homer, allegedly, from the Oddysey
Clearly, lying in a hammock is often perceived as a relaxing yet somewhat decadent activity. The world hums on while we recline. We ought to be busy doing something!
In the latest salvo, I had graduated to Hedonist. I must be doing something right. It musta’ almost certainly been the sleeping in ’til nine.
After a lovely visit, my mate from teenage days in Melbourne, Australia sent me this funny article from the local newspaper, The Age. I don’t entirely concur with the birdshite conclusions, but I do enjoy the prose. Good onya. mate!
Don’t bother flying to Fiji. Just string up a hammock
I spend my time in the hammock reading, listening to music, and watching – mostly the news (my newsbath, or general braincheese) but also great films and mysteries. Often, I even read a book or take a nap. Sometimes, I even write things. I do not consider this time wasted.
Mi Mayan Hamaca 