I'm dirt.

I am hungry. I always seem to be hungry. My wife says I should just eat, but I wish I didn't have to. How many Somalians want to kick my ass right now? It's all relative, but I wish I could go with an apple and a nut bar a day and call it good. But I need to eat all the time. "Need" is a bit fickle, but if you're someone around me who sees my mood drop like a hot rock, you'd say something like, "Dude, I think you need to eat."

My fear is that if we're being invaded and thrown from our homes, I'm going to be a pretty crappy bastion of strength. "Why is dad crying?" might ask one of my boys as they watch their patriarch gnaw on a tree. Right now I can rip open the pantry and brutalize a bowl of cereal and a tuna sandwich. If we're on the run from barbarians or Nazis, how in the Hell am I going to keep myself together?

My issue with food--or my ridiculous need for it--was confirmed at a party of new age hippy people. It was 1999 and I was on the radio. Everybody who heard me felt like they knew me (and they weren't too wrong as I pretty much shared everything) and they would call up the station and invite me to things as if I were family. I have witnessed other disc jockeys in similar situations and they'd politely decline and go about their lives. I couldn't do it. I could not (cannot) say 'no'. I had this feeling that if I declined then they'd stop listening and tell other people that I was a jerk for refusing to come to their potluck. Little did I know that turning them down actually made me more desirable. Instead, I'd go, sometimes full of resentment about going, and totally turn off an entire crowd of people hoping for something much different.

Anyway, long, long learning curve.

I went to this little get-together near Turtle Lake, a rural neighborhood famous for the new-age lifestyle. That's fine with me, it's just that if I thought I was honest on the radio, it was nothing compared to people who are so comfortable with themselves they don't bathe and share stories of their bowel movements like it's the Dow Jones.

So I ended up sitting in a circle in a well-appointed home by the lake. These people had money, but I'm not sure if they worked. When I'm with friends our conversations are mostly about how we don't like our jobs. These people floated above such petty discourse and wore their leisure like a comfortable pair of pajamas. On my day off I'd be stressed about 'getting things done', and If I were to sit in a circle for hours and hours I'd perforate the gentle mood with statements like, "We gotta wrap this up because I need to work tomorrow."

Anyway, we had candles and Tarot cards and this board game that was supposed to tell us more about ourselves. There was also wine, weed and hardly enough food. I remember crushing a plate of vegetables and dip before realizing it was for everyone.

So maybe they didn't need the cards, candles and board game to find out more about me. But with her smorgasbord of intuitive toys, the hostess discovered which elements people represented. For example, the muscly guy with curly hair who'd just tried out for the TV show Survivor, well he was the sky. He could illuminate things and bring life and bounty and warmth. He was pretty awesome. His girlfriend was fire. Naturally she would blaze a trail through life and bring light to the darkest woods. The girl running the seance was water, and everybody went "ooooh" and agreed how much she was like water. She could flow and move and cut through moutains.

My turn came around and I was dirt. Not Earth or soil, but dirt. You plant things in soil, you live off of the Earth, but dirt...I don't know, it just wasn't ringing like water or fire.

I should mention here that once I arrived at the house, I realized it was a bit of a setup. The Survivor guy and his girlfriend (Fire), wanted to hook me up with Water. Now right away I was not interested in this situation. First off, I had a girlfriend, and secondly, Water was pretty damn annoying.

For a while I was feeling fairly superior until they deemed me dirt. Turns out being dirt means I eat a lot. I'm needy and have many cravings that only end with something being devoured. I do recall one good part about Dirt: I am the creative root to many projects, but again, that creativity, left unattended, leads to exuberant consumption. So the tables completely turned. Fire, Sky and Water looked down on Dirt, and I could feel the bloated weight of the Wendy's hamburger I threw down before going to what I suspected was going to be a vegetarian affair.

The new, locally famous guest was now a gassy liability with confidence issues. I sensed that everybody could sense it. The Survivor guy needlessly flexed to get a carrot to his mouth, and his girlfriend, Fire, asked if it were true that deejays didn't get paid much. Again, dawning on me too late was the realization that if I'd just stayed home I'd be the cool, aloof guy who didn't have time for silly games. At least I could comfort myself with the knowledge that, if I wanted to, I could eat any one of them.