Posts Tagged ‘A Burning Man Story’

How Long Does It Take

June 4, 2013

To get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop?

No, I mean to write the blog.

It takes, give or take, a topic, about a half hour to forty-five minutes.

I don’t know how long it will take tonight, but I would like to kick it out the jams in a quick manner, so I can relax, for all of five minutes, have some tea, maybe watch part of episode one of the new season of the Killing.

Maybe make my bed and put away my clothes.

This week got busy right off the bat and as I look at having to get up to get to work in Cole Valley for my 8:45am shift, alarm set for 6:30 a.m., I am trying to navigate getting my evening “chores” in.

The cats be fed, the laundry is waiting to be folded and the tea sits cooling in a mug by the computer screen.

“There is a little desk for you and your gigantic mug of tea,” she said to me today, as I was preparing to settle in to my assignment for the day.

“You remember!” I laugh, I am working in the same building on Valencia street as the bike shop is in and I always had a notoriously large mug of tea somewhere close to where ever I was stationed in the store.

I am a tea hound.

This is how I stay hydrated.

This is how I justify trips to the loo when I am feeling overwhelmed.

And sometimes this is how I fill the hole up with something hot to calm the nerves and satiate the anxiety.

If you saw the amount of tea I drank at the bike shop you would conclude that I was often anxious and in need of stepping away from the space to break down in the bathroom.

“If I am giving you too much information, stop me, and let me know,” she said to me as we were going through proposal templates this afternoon.

“I’ll let you know,” I said, “I will fill up quick, but I am still taking in information.”

Which is true.

I had left to make copies of the keys to the office and the building, traveling a circuit I know well, down 18th between Valencia and Mission streets, only to discover the Locksmith was closed on Mondays.  Nevertheless information had been gathering in the brief time I was walking on the sidewalks and I could already see systems bubbling up in my head.

I am learning.



“It is the wrong job for you if you aren’t learning something,” a friend said to me this weekend as we chatted in the short-cropped grass of the back yard, the sun lustily painting her skin in creamy golds and dustings of freckles.

It feels like the right job.

It feels good to get in there and start the learning.

Yeah, it is scary and yes I did admit that this is all new to me, but my boss knows this and is still one of my best advocates.

I feel beyond grateful to have the confidence of her being instilled in me.

“You have to advocate for yourself,” she told me this afternoon.

She was actually talking about a situation at Burning Man and I had not even seen it from the point of view she was describing.

That is what a mentor does, changes your perspective and shows you how to better do your job and take care of yourself in the process.

I will begin the advocating in that direction directly.

I am also seeing that my attention to detail is going to play into this job and dovetail with the needs of the business.  I pay attention to things and I notice things and words and pictures and images.

I feel that this repository of a brain has a lot to offer, I just need to move out-of-the-way with my false road signs depicting a trash heap of tragedy.

Silly rabbit, there is nothing wrong, you get to use your magnificent brain to help another person.

How cool is that?

And tomorrow I will get to use my juggling skills to maintain three children.


Yes, it is Tuesday again.

This time, however, I am more prepared.  I have more of an idea of what I can do, how long it will take me to do it, and how to go about navigating the home and the situation.

I feel as though I will begin to delve into nannying and not just babysitting.

Not just maintaining.

Thus why I wish to make this a speedy Gonzalez sort of blog.

I want to have a nice made bed and fresh clothes laid out, my bag packed with my things and the necessary accoutrement.

I already loaded up my BART ticket at the station on the way back home.

I was also chatting back and forth with a friend about a writing project and thought, this too, I need to do this too.

So much stuff.

So exciting.

I am enjoying my full life and getting right into the thick of it.

The commute does not seem quite as overwhelming, although still not that desirable, I do want to make my way back to San Francisco, I am shooting for post-Burning Man.

Speaking of which, I may just go to the premier of Spark,  A Burning Man Story and see if I can get a ticket in.

Why not?

I say yes to seeing something new that will make me happy and connecting with people who make me happy and seeing imagery that makes me happy.

And shoot!

I can write it off as a work expense, it is definitely in that milieu.

I work for a design firm, here is creativity flashed out right in front of me.

I found out I can also write off books, magazines, pens, notebooks, travel expenses, my phone, my laptop (when I get a new one, I think that will be an investment that needs be made), why not a movie ticket?

I know I will be inspired.

Inspiration also needs rest and it is time to wind down.

More tomorrow for you.

More for me too.

Where Are You Camped

June 2, 2013

I don’t remember.

I know I am not going to be by Media Mecca this year, but I won’t be too far off, the big Ranger station?  Somewhere along 3:45 and C.

What about you?

When are you going up?

I’ll be getting there August 17th, leaving the Bay on the 16th, staying overnight in Reno, then hitting the playa that Saturday.


I was at a Burning Man BBQ today.

It was awesome socks.

I got to go out with an old friend who picked me up from Graceland today and we drove out to Petaluma for the Media Mecca BBQ and gathering.

I saw faces I had not seen since last year’s event and faces I had only connected with via Facecrack, and a few more friends who I had briefly seen at another Burning Man centric back yard bbq my first week back.

It was lovely to catch up, sit in the sun, in the grass, out in the California country.

To watch the fire under the hot tub licking the sides of the big round trough of water up on cinder blocks.

“It’s like a hilly billy hot tub,” my friend noted as I sat snuggling with his “puppy” ( a four-year old Pyrenees Mountain Dog, a dainty 118 lbs) as we watched the host stuff another log into the fire pit underneath the tub.

“It is fucking brilliant,” I said to the host early in the day as he showed me and my friend around the house and the  gardens.

It, the tub in question, was a large round horse trough up on cement blocks over a brick patio.  Underneath the tub, which had just been filled earlier that day with fresh water, was a fire pit.  The host looked at his watch and calculated, staring now, around four pm, the water should be hot enough to climb into by nightfall.

Good thing we left right before nightfall, another event beckoned my ride back to San Francisco, or I would have been cavorting naked in that tub.

And I am not a ready, set, disrobe sort of gal.

I like keeping my clothes on, thank you very much.

“When are the girls going to come out?” My camp mate asked my first year on playa at Burning Man.

“Uh, my girls?  Do you mean my breasts?” I asked a little askance.

“Yeah, aren’t you going to let them come out and play?” He continued.

“No,” I said, “I am not that kind of Burning Man person”.

I never want the playa name “Dusty Tits” frankly or “Dusty Bits” either, for that matter.

I am not a get naked at Burning Man girl.

I don’t ride in Critical Tits, although one year I got inadvertently swept up in the crossfire, I don’t wear sheer items on playa, I just don’t get naked.  Unless it is pre-event and in the dark and out at the hot springs.

I am not a cavorting topless lass.

You perhaps can conclude then, the hot tub, hilly billy or no, was quite alluring.

It was also fun to hear from folks who have seen the Sparks A Burning Man Story, a documentary that was premiered at South By South West and has its West Coast premier this Thursday, June 6th at the Roxie Theater on 16th and Valencia.

“Have you seen the movie yet?” My friend asked.

“No, I have seen the trailer, but not yet the film, I heard the tickets were sold out to the premier, I am bummed I missed getting one, I really want to see it,” I said to my friend.

“The shot of you is pretty spectacular, you look all blissed out and sunshiney and smiley and like you were just dancing your heart out somewhere or having a cosmic moment with the Universe, you know, like you do.” He said with a fond smile on his face.

You know, like you do.

Yeah, I do know.

I do have those moments.

On playa and off, where I let people in and I get a little dreamy and I recite poetry or get transported by music or I get caught up holding someone’s hand and telling a story.

I have not been a lot of places where I am so my authentic self and so guarded at the same time.

“Where’s your Burniform?” My friend questioned me.

I smiled.

I am in it.

My uniform usually consists of tank tops, boy briefs, tights and boots.  I’ll strap on a pair of goggles to my leg, wrap a bandana around my wrist, and maybe another around a boot.  Slap together some sort of belt and carabiner with a water bottle attached to said belt.

That’s it.

I don’t get too fancy, although I do have a crinoline I break out to flounce around in once in a while.

I will certainly flounce in it this year.

“You should see the picture she took of me,” my friend said, “it was hilarious, it is one of my favorites,” he scrolled through his photos on his Iphone.

“Meet clown at 5:15 and esplanade Monday.”

This was written in black sharpie marker on his forearm.

Neither of us knew what to do with that information, but a clown was expecting to be met the next day, that was clear.

It was a day out in the country, short ribs on the grill, smoking fire warming up a cauldron of water, it’s not a Burning Man party without some fire and smoke happening, pitchers of lemonade, watermelon salad, home-made guacamole, one large dog, and lots of stories.

Lots of stories.

I don’t know where I am camped this year, I forgot and my sense of direction is shoddy anyhow, but I do know I will be there and I will have my camera and there will be more stories to be told.

More memories made.

More life experienced.

I am a lucky, lucky, lucky girl.

You can see it in the smile on my face.

And maybe you will, if you managed to get tickets to the movie!

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