Iconoclastic.

It's a good word.  Keep it in mind when I'm speaking of this event.  It is a
word that probably about ...  ummm, 1 in ten thousand actually comprehend
and valuate at a place where it supposedly is taking place.  They are
distracted by boobies.  Aren't we all.

Lessee... I think burning man started around the early 80's, in SF, Ca.
 A propitious time in what would become known world wide as "the silicon
valley".  Since its early birth, the event has evolved.  BLM gets 1.5 mill
just to let a bunch of americans gather on public land for a week, even
though the event is famous for it's "no evidence left behind" ethos.  It's
to help pay for the extra policing.  woo hoo.  yay extra policing.


I've never really dived into the Dionysian scene.  I've been an analytically
aloof observer pretty much my whole life, probably like a lot of you, being
what kind of guy wrote those books and all.   Also, you know why Seventh Day
Adventists don't believe in fornication?  Cuz it can lead to dancing.  There
is something vital  missing in my get down and boogie, I think you either
absorb it young or never get it at all.  So i mostly don't get it.  And I
don't miss it much.  I like dancing as a spectator sport.  I can experience
the crowd's delight in mass hysteria - as long as I'm safely observing from
the sidelines.  I can't really join in.

So to go to an event that is pretty much centered around a massly hysterical
joining in, I wasn't having that much fun.  True communal bonding is
something I treasure as a rare jewel and rarely experience, but most of what
passes for it is a cheap thrills substitute that wouldn't satisfy anyone if
it weren't for liquor.

And the pounding noise was very irritating after a while.

So I wasn't all that happy.  On the plus side, the TP had come together
nicely as a solid, comfortable instant home in the desert, with a pleasant
porch and ambiance.  Needed a woman's touch though.  A certain artistic
panache was missing.    It had weathered the first big storm nicely, and
actually that storm sorta changed my luck, communal interaction wise.  It's
easier to get some conversation going when you've got a captive audience.

And the search for communal bonding was one big reason I was attending.
 Creation of a tribal warmth missing from everyday life is a big part of
BM's appeal.  The fact that I wasn't experiencing much of it was depressing.
 I met people, they seemed friendly, they drifted elsewhere, I met others,
they drifted on.    Everybody has so much choice to explore.

The most popular feature of the whole place was this thing called
"Thunderdome" and if you've seen the Mel Gibson movie, based upon the
character Mad Max which basically launched his career, then you've seen it.
 What they erected on the playa was an exact replica of the arena in the
movie - a large geodesic cage in which two antagonists battle it out, only
using pillowed staffs and such instead of chainsaws and hammers like in the
movie.

In the movie, the cage was set up to settle disputes.  It was seen as an
amelioration of man's aggressive instincts by keeping combat up close and
personal.  A solution to the apocalyptic Nuke exchanges which got mankind
into the mess they were in in the movie.

The BM equivalent was a well-done replica, the illusion of reality
reinforced by all the people in costumes and vehicles recreated from the
movie.  And it really was something to see, these men and women in studded
leather and feathered helms piloting vehicles spouting flames from propane
powered cannons, roaring across the desert.

A definitely engrossing spectacle as was the Thunderdome which featured
people who had a beef with one another basically fighting viscious pillow
fights.  I didn't hang around it a great deal since I didn't have much of a
beef with anybody.  But found it mildly interesting.

On thursday evening, the biggest windstorm hit and instead of a gaggle of
lost irish lasses in bikinis, I ended up with a few neighbors who had eye'd
the shelter's resilience during the previous storm and came flocking to my
home, this time bearing gifts.  Steaks to be bbq'ed on my porch, much cuter
and fuller-fleshed American girls in bikinis who were also less shy than the
reticent Irish and bringing gifts of tea made from the magic mushroom.

Now this was more like it.  This was what I'd been hoping for and planning
on, the forceful bonding that happens when  community is under assault from
the forces of nature where I get included, not because of my social skills,
which are sketchy, but because of my sheltering ark, which is handy.   I did
notice when I was chatting up this really cute girl that I liked a lot, that
I kept talking about my wife.

See what I mean about sketchy social skills?    But really, no great loss.
 I told her that my nickname all my life was "cary" because my dad had been
named John too and to avoid confusion, I got saddled with Cary as a nickname
for "Carl" and my mom called me Cary from birth because she had this thing
for Cary Grant, which bugged me nowadays because I'm anti-icon and anyway,
the guy's real name was Archibald Leach and he was probably gay to boot.

She'd never heard of him.  Never heard of Cary Grant?  My mind flashed to
that Steely Dan song, Hey 19, we can't talk at all.  Reinforcement of the
idea that while its fun to eye the candy, a man has needs for sustenance in
his relationships.

But hey, I was enjoying myself enough.  Topping it all off, was a beautiful
finish to the storm, a gorgeous double rainbow, a photo opportunity and a
mushroom-enhanced feast for the eyes.

http://s696.photobucket.com/albums/vv326/ridgecoyote/

For the first time since the Monday night we'd arrived, I was having fun and
things were going well.  Now if I could just carry this fruitful energy
through to the burning of the man, I would consider my energy and money well
spent.

Little did he know... (third-person omniscient) what was in store for the
dweller of the ark, the promise of the bow set in the sky portended more
than he could guess... and RobbyDobb waiting in the wings to pounce.
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