I wanna be a cowgirl

Quick postscript re: my previous entry. Had a conversation with a friend from our Burning Man camp. He talked about how the infrastructure of Burning Man must evolve in order to handle the new pressures placed upon it, and that the people who spend their time making toilet signs and barking through bullhorns idle threats regarding the future of Burning Man riding on our compliance with the potty rules, seem to be missing the point. Cigarette butts, glow sticks and baby wipes may clog their filters or break their pumps, but here's a concentration of some of the most creative, ingenious people on earth. The next generation of portapotty engineering is nigh.

*****

On Wednesday, I thought the world was coming to an end. I had been dancing at Qool for a couple of hours. My friend Leni and I walk outside for some fresh air. We're standing there talking and we hear what sounds like a succession of explosions reverberating through the buildings downtown. We look up at the sky and stand listening. People spill out of clubs and restaurants onto the sidewalk, everyone looking a bit nervous and unsettled. We take turns speculating... fireworks? gun shots? We decide neither of us have ever heard anything like it before. We look at each other with alarm and run towards my car to flip on the news.

Nothing on the news, but the sound continues to intensify. Leni looks at me uncomfortably, "Let's get the hell out of here!" he demands. I start up the engine, we pull out of the lot and head west, away from downtown and the Bay. I try to remain calm, as much for my sake as for Leni's, who is in the passenger seat looking like he's about to hyperventilate. "OK, let's take a deep breath. It's probably nothing, but I think we're smart to leave. If the shit really is going down, I'd really rather be somewhere other than here, so let's just drive until we feel like we should stop." We drive a few blocks, adrenaline coursing through our veins as we weave around traffic, attempting to make a quick, smart escape.

Our flight instinct brings us to a fire station. "Do you know what's going on?" I ask a fireman standing in front of the house. "Fireworks at the waterfront." Leni tries to convince me if we are really under attack, it could be a government conspiracy and that we should be skeptical of the fireman's response. I roll my eyes at him and turn the car around. "Let's at least go check out the waterfront before we've driven all the way across town and nearly given ourselves coronaries."

As we near the water, the buildings become shorter and the view of the sky unobstructed. I see a flash. I hear more explosions. It's the Mega Fireworks show of the National Pyrotechnics Convention! We laugh nervously and decide to head back to the club for a celebratory "Yay! We didn't die!" jig. Disaster averted. OK, so there was no actual disaster, but attempting to avert it made for a fun outing and a good experiment to see how I might react in the case of a real emergency.

*****




Yesterday was the 2nd Annual San Francisco Love Parade. Over twenty floats, hundreds of DJs, thousands of people partying in the streets in front of City Hall (only in SF!). It was a gorgeous day (I think our Indian summer may finally have arrived). Started with pre-parade dressing up and fanfare at Angela's house. Took the bus downtown to the parade route, only to be dropped off a few blocks away in the middle of an anti-war rally. Danced for hours at the Space Cowboys Unimog and the Moonshine Saloon (where Mary and I spent one of our best nights at Burning Man this year). Someone licked my boot. Man, I love this town.

probably not the story you wanted to hear

Just like last year, I'm putting off writing in my blog because I keep trying to weave some magical story about Burning Man, and, well, I just don't think it's going to happen. My experience, once again, surpassed all expectation (I really try my best to have none) and left me speechless, utterly dumbfounded at the fantastical wonderland human imagination creates every year out there on that flat piece of desert in the middle of nowhere. There are too many stories to be told, too many interactions to recount, too many memories to keep precious.

Oddly enough, the one thing that did strike me with unusual force this year was my observations of the toilet cleaners. Every year they are there, working silently behind the scenes at odd hours to keep our Johnny-on-the-Spots clean and supplied with adequate toilet paper and seat covers. On the door of each toilet, someone from the Burning Man Department of Public Works has placed a gentle reminder (often in Haiku form), urging burners to think before mindlessly tossing our tampons, matches, baby wipes and other non-approved waste into the potty.

"If you drop a glowstick in the toilet, someone has to go in and fish it out with their hands. Do you want that job? We didn't think so."

In the wee hours of a particularly cold night, I stand outside the potty waiting for Mary to come out. A large truck is parked alongside the long row of blue plastic toilet-houses. The moonlit silhouette of a long, thick accordian tube stretches from the truck and disappears into one of the toilets. A man inside illuminates the inside of the outhouse with his headlamp and quickly works the hose as the contents of the toilet are sucked out and deposited into the truck's waste tank. My stomach turns. I watch him come out. He's wearing a Scream mask to hide his face and cocks his head to one side in silent acknowledgement of me as he exits. "Thank you so much," I mutter under my breath.

These guys have possibly one of the worst jobs on earth. Most of them are ex-cons, and graveyard shift toilet cleaner at a festival in the middle of the Nevada desert was the only gig they could get to begin the long road to rehabilitation and acceptance back into mainstream society. I almost want to cry. What a terrible, terrible thing to have to do. Without mindless morons making their lives even more miserable by carelessly dropping candy necklaces and cigarette butts in the toilet, I imagine it's a bit like purgatory. With them, I figure it must be hell.

Hey you, there's my PSA. Please respect the toilet man. If it doesn't come out of your body, don't put it in the potty.

stories to come... maybe

As usual, I'm having a bit of a rough time trying to articulate my experience at Burning Man. There is simply so much that happens every second of every day that attempting a summary of events is pointless. I feel too emotional to describe a lot of it. At least this year I have some notes on particularly unusual or wacky things that transpired, so I should be able to share some of it as soon as I have a moment and a bit more clarity.




I put together a photo album on Ofoto but will not be posting the link to my blog. If you would like to see them, please email me!