I Am Not Writing About Him



But if you come by my trailer I may tell you a tale.

I will add this as well, I have never not felt compelled to write about someone.

However, some things, well they are not to be shared.

And I am a greedy girl and this is mine to keep.

However, I will tell you about other awesome things that happened today.

At Burning Man.

In no particular order, since it is late and I just really want to go to bed, the following things happened.

-On the way back from lunch, driving along Commerce at 6:45 there was a camp I passed in the Soccer Mom (the name my boss has given the white mini van that she is using for her team’s work at the event) with my little monkey in the back, we passed “Cat Camp”.  Where four people were sitting in lawn chairs meowing at everyone who walked past.

I pulled over the car, popped open the door to the back took my bunny out of the car and said, ‘what does a cat say?’

And he said, “eeyow.”


They all applauded.

His first word, according to mom, was meow and I told that to the two women in their early sixties holding little card board signs that said “meow”.  The husbands, I am assuming they were husbands, all meowed in approval and gave him high fives.

-Tonight I watched a woman sing opera from the top of an art car that was in the shape of a Greek war-horse with flame affects coordinated with the aria she was singing from Puccini.

Then to make it even more amazing, she was joined by a friend who did fan and pole dancing on a pole that was anchored in the middle of the ship and must have risen another fifteen or twenty feet into the sky, and yes had fire spouting out the top.

The opera singer finished with a piece that was also choreographed to coincide with the dancer doing the most astounding and graceful acrobatic pole work I have ever seen.

The entire audience was enthralled and holding onto their breaths.

This was happening out by the airport and as such there were no booming art cars with sound systems that rattle your teeth or raver pant kids mooping their beer cans on the playa.  It was under the dark night sky sprayed with stars for a small intimate group of approximately thirty pilots and friends.

I am still astounded that I got to be there.

They finished with “Bésame Mucho“.


–I found my friend Thomas from Paris, giving his first hug on the morning of his first day on playa.

It was a hug to end all hugs.

Then I hugged the woman that he did a ride share with, a complete stranger he met on a Burning Man ride board, for bringing him.

She told me that may have been the best hug she has ever had.

Happy to oblige.

–I threw ice cream sandwiches out the window of the Soccer Mom as I was driving back to camp to a man sitting on a platform swing chair with his son who were serenely sitting watching all the folks walk past the intersection.

I don’t normally carry ice cream sandwiches on me, I don’t eat sugar, you know, but once in a while I will take an ice cream treat from the commissary and hand it out to someone.

I know this is completely against the “rules” but I figure I haven’t eaten desert at any of the meals they serve and taking to ice cream sandwich bars felt fine in my heart and it sure was pleasing to see the grins on the father and son as I pulled up to them in the Soccer Mom and tossed the cold treats out to them from the open window.


Then I drove off.

Hit and run ice cream.

Hmm, that’s like a great band name, should I ever decide to start a band.

Either that or a playa camp name.

-Some of the names of camps I passed by on my goings about today: Pink Heart Camp, Red LIghting, Cat Camp, Puking Sparrows (that’s just not a good visual), Cargo Pant Camp, Campoline (trampoline camp), Lazy Fuckers Camp (four fat folks sitting on folding chairs drinking Starbucks Frappucino’s out of cans.  I am not kidding. Total tourists), Camp Stella, Camp Run Free, Costco Soul Mate Trading Outlet, Cosmonaut Camp (they have a super cute mail box with little stuffed monkeys in space suits, complete with little helmets dangling all over it), Distrikt, Duck Pond, Ass Stamp Camp (come on by and we’ll but a tramp stamp on your ass and serve you some fresh sangria!), Sparkle Pony Camp, The Lost Penguins, Free Photo Camp, First Camp, The Ghetto, and of course my camp–Equilibrium, where we do wine bongs and corn dogs.

Well, I don’t do either, and as of yet I have not see a wine bong happening, but they did put out the chair of ‘Center of Attention’.

It is a big stuffed wing chair on a pedestal with steps leading up to it, an arch way over it drapped with swaths of fabric and flowers, and a sign that says, “Center of Attention”.

Anyone who sits in the chair immediately is to receive the entire camp, or whomever happens to be in camp at the time, attention, wherein they are showered with compliments and made to feel the total center of attention.

I saw it happen once today and it was actually really sweet.

-I went to the post office and mailed post card and letters.

Nothing says I love you like a little note from Black Rock City.

-I went to Media Mecca again to register my camera, but it was once again swamped. and I was not able to stay long enough to do the process.

Then I was pulled aside and engulfed in a huge hug from a friend from London and another from Chicago who just had a baby and admonished to come back to Mecca now, damn it.

Afterwhile I was told, come back after hours and don’t worry about it.

Then I ran into Jason from the Pin Hole Camera Project who wanted me to go out and take photographs with them (I rode along with them last year on a complete whim, and because one of my camp mates was friends of his and had the most extraordinary time.)

I said, “Jason, I am just an amateur photographer.”

“So,” he replied, “you’ve got a good eye and besides I want to play a round of frisbee golf with you.  When are you not working? I want you to come out with us.”

Well, as it turns out, I am off tomorrow morning, in exchange for working a long night shift tomorrow night.

No problem.

As long as I have off Thursday night.

I have a date to go see a movie on playa.

Which I won’t tell you about either.

And since there’s nothing else to write about, that I am willing to share, I shall bid you an adieu.

More on the morrow.

Blowing you kisses, but keeping the majority to myself.

Kiss me a lot, as I am afraid of losing you afterwards.

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