burning the man

I ditched class on Friday, missing both Contracts and CivPro. I drove up to Nevada for Burningman instead.

We collected Death and Taxes on the way. We were late, very late. You see, no trip to Burningman is complete without some sort of horror occuring on the way. This year, it was my turn to provide the horror. While finishing the staging required for packing the truck, I discovered that I needed safety goggles and concrete form stakes. Off to the store! I trundled out of Home Despot laden with safety gear and the 2 foot form stakes, plunked them into my trunk, slammed the lid closed, and then realized that my keys were in there. Did I think quickly and open one of the doors that I had unlocked? No. I waited until the Jetta said "Meep", confirming that unlocked doors had relocked themselves. Dance of dispair.

Many, many hours later we arrived "home", at the gates of Black Rock City. At camp we were warned about 60mph gusts of wind, and especially cold nights, none of which transpired.

Overall BMAN was lovely. The temperatures were warm and friendly, not piercing and cruel. There was just enough of a breeze to take the edge off. The lovely woman from Newt's bar was there again. Good times were had.

Complaints. It really is hippy, raver, overpriced disneyland as a friend proclaimed on buttons. There was only one large scale art exhibit aside from the temple and the man. Most of the other art was centered on Art Cars and things that go Blink. The city is too big, not walkable. It's difficult at best to make connections with unknown people. How can you forge community with people you haven't met. How can you care about people you don't know?

Too many people, not enough big art, too big to walk, not human sized, not enough art to justify the art grants/ticket prices.

I treasure my one connection with a random stranger. While I was promenading on the temple walkway, I saw a pretty woman with over a dozen glowsticks around her neck. "Hello Glowstick Queen," I said. She offered me one; I accepted. What should have taken just a moment, the act of lifting the string over her head to give me the glowing pink stick, evolved into a five minute conversation. The cords the glowsticks were on had tangled with each other. It was in the untangling that I was found out her name is Cherry, that she had flown out from Cape Cod, MA to camp with friends, and that she is an art therapy teacher. Like a zen knot, the tangling of the cords created the moment, clarity came from chaos.