Sweet Fantasy 2012: Memoirs Of An Imperfect Randy
Against better judgment and all decency, our special correspondent Randy Bodom was yet-again budgeted in to bring his unique style of coverage to our recap of Natvia’s “Sweet Fantasy” WBC after-party. Last year’s financing purchased us this howling dispatch from Sweet Fantasy Maastricht, a document soaked in Drambuie and shame. Will Randy’s expense report for Vienna 2012 be topped by a week at Passages? Read on.
I’ve never experienced anything like the Sweet Fantasy “One Night In Bangkok” Party Brought To You By Natvia. Oh, sure, I’ve been on the Thai raves circuit. There I was, budding young teenage Randy lost in Bangkok, falling in and out of narrow, twisting alleyways, stumbling down the lesser esplanades of Banglamphu, thousands of buzzing motorscooters whizzing right beside me, whispering in my ears.
No, Sweet Fantasy wasn’t quite like that…
This photo was taken the moment I walked in the door, right after someone in a ripped Brewers Cup shirt and cut-offs (cropped tight) handed me a smoking hot glass of cascara. They said, “Pass it around, Randy. Don’t be shy.” At first I tasted cotton candy and sweet cacao mucilage, giving way to a parched, sticky mouth feel, coating my tongue and lips. But soon these notes melted into feelings of fear, and terror.
I needed a drink, but the line to the bottom’s bar was pulsating and undulating to the rhythm of Top 40 sugar beats. I knew there had to be more alcohol upstairs, and could smell the sickly sweet scent of coconut hovering above me, so I left the grinding dance floor worker bees to tend to their sweltering honey hive.
I danced my way up the stairway, and then I did it again, and again, and again, lost in a sweaty spiral of euphoric madness. Through the fog, I could make out the barista champions all around me. They were tamping, grinding, and wiggling up next to each other, some were even shape-shifting into mythical creatures. Surely my impending doom was coming down upon me, and I experienced feelings of darkness. One mystical barista demon lured me into the booth with DJ J’Aime Julien, where I was captured on CCTV deep in the throes of my cascara frenzy…
While the party throbbed on all around me, I felt myself leave my physical body and float over the warehouse. First I smelled spring rolls, but then more hallucinations hit me. I was visited by the spiritual essences of the WBC stars: Raul Rodas force-fed me yellow cherries against my will; Spain’s Jordi Mestre popped balloon after balloon of sniffing gas next to my face. I felt like I was in some kind of institution, or insane asylum basically.
All I could do was flee, past the thousands of dancing, vibrating humanoids still packed inside the warehouse. Some kind of horrible beast creature stopped me in my tracks as I tried to make my escape, and thrusted more cascara in my face, but I believe it was laced with bath salts. I was in a dark place and I needed to go back to my loft, hide out from the world, and maybe eat some of that Ben and Jerry’s Frozen Greek Yogurt in the banana and peanut butter swirl flavor…
36 hours later, I came to from my frenzy feeling clearheaded and ready to greet the day. To celebrate, I baked myself a sheet of Natvia Mud Cake, then I flew home to Las Vegas and my new lease on life. When the editors of Sprudge called to check in on this assignment, I was afraid it would bring back those evil memories. But then I said, “Come on, Randy – the people wanna read about Sweet Fantasy, and they need you to take them there, bath salts and all!”
It’s better to light a candle than fear the darkness.
Barista Magazine’s Sweet Fantasy write-up.
Natvia’s Sweet Fantasy photo archive on Facebook.