Strong winds put the Burn on hold for awhile last night, but The Man finally went up in flames around 11 p.m. The harsh conditions earlier in the evening forced the cancellation of the fire conclave beforehand. By the time the big guy burned, though, the dust storms had cleared and the night had turned beautiful.

Lots more pics and a wrapup post in a day or two.

The Man burns in 364 days.

In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are consequences. -Robert Ingersoll

They’ll start tearing down the structures at the base of Man tonight, and tomorrow morning, they’ll attach accelerants and fireworks.

Getting ready to blow.

A fun little video from the night we filmed the staff tutorials with Banyan :)

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More random thoughts, because that’s the only kind we are capable of, and really, trying to get your arms around this beast is pretty damn impossible right now.

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We crashed a fancy party last night, and things were very fine. It was an outreach network gathering, bringing together a lot of the far-flung Burning Man operations.  The Black Rock Arts Foundation, Black Rock Solar, Burners Without Borders and a lot of the regional clans were represented.  For a lot of the folks, it was a reunion, like the people who were down in Peru helping after the earthquake. And there were regional reps from all over the world — Canada, South America, Japan … it’s a big Burner world out there.

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Maybe it’s just me, but there seem to be many more live performances on the Playa this year. The Red Nose District is in full swing, but it seems like there’s a lot more of everything live, too. Last night at around 8:30 and Esplanade, we watched a beautiful dance piece, the  dancers glowing under black lights in the desert night. Beautiful.

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If you live in the Bay Area, it must seem like you have the city to yourself these days. On the bright side, certain restaurants might be a little easier to get into. (And oh how we long for a restaurant experience, ANY restaurant experience:
Even though I have been eating relatively well (and by relative I mean probably better than I do at home), still, we will soon go to a restaurant, we will sit down, we will pick something off the menu, anything we like, and then they will bring it to us, and perhaps there will be wine. Oh yes, we are ready for that.)

But still, the Bay Area has to be lacking a certain energy. And maybe a common sense of longing for those not able to make it out here this year…

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You have to wonder how the BM people try to gauge the event; there’s no way of predicting, really, where the energy is going to go when people get here. At least I don’t know if there is. I’m sure clues emerge in the artist proposals and the theme camp registrations, but the hundreds and hundreds of camps that are off the grid or out of the book also help determine where this thing is heading. But who really knows? It’s not like the event can be directed in any major way. “It’s pushing with a feather,” as one insider put it.

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There seem to be more than a couple of people walking around with tired eyes today, and the reason might not be exactly what you’d suspect. “I got plenty of sleep last night, but I still feel kind of tired. I’m not waking up,” one campmate said.  The diagnosis? Dehydration. You don’t know you’re even sweating out here. There’s no clue, because there is rarely any moisture on your body. But you lose water just the same. So yeah, for those of you not here, we’re really suffering. I know you feel for us. Really, I do.

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Thunderdome is in full swing, with places to hang onto the bars and watch the battles already hard to find. There was a cute scene there the other night; a young boy with a man we’ll say was his father were in the ring. The little guy was really going at it, taking out all that pent-up resentment of being told what to eat and when to go to bed and when to do the homework. The dad, admirably, was just doing a little jousting, pretty much love-tapping him when appropriate. No doubt they’ll use their words later …

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The “wheel” area of the camp is very much expanded this year, and it feels like there’s a lot more room. A lot of the familiar camps are still here — BMIR, Picasso Camp, the Information Booth — but it all feels more spacious. The Jazz Cafe is also going pretty much around the clock, and that’s a place I hadn’t checked out before. It’s kind of a combination performance/seminar scene, with lots of hot playing, but there are also lots of conversations about what’s being played, the influences, and the progression of the genre. Cool stuff.

—

We’ve been pretty wired to the election season in recent months, and it’s very strange to be out here and so out of touch. You don’t get much sense of anticipation about Obama’s speech tonight. Same with the Olympics; for the people here, it’s like they pretty much didn’t happen. But I’m looking forward to catching up via digital recorder, and I’m pretty sure Obama’s speech will be in YouTube shortly after he delivers it. So it’ll be there for me when I get back.

Politics feels more personal here; there are a lot of activists, but I haven’t come across any from the major parties. Instead, there are people who’ve learned how to do things like hang doors and frame houses and pour concrete at Burners Without Borders operations. There are a lot of Peru veterans here. It’s the politics of the planet.

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Tonight’s plan; back to the Red Nose District, maybe another visit to Altered States, then out to the Temple (which I haven’t been able to get to since it opened), and then on way way out to Babylon and Peter Hudson’s Tantalus. It’s an aggressive schedule, given the condition of the playa (which is really challenging this year). But, hard as it is to believe, time is growing short. See you out there.

—

Here are a few snappies from the Regionals bash yesterday:

Things are in full swing, and words are becoming kind of beside the point. The activities are taking off in a thousand different directions, with thousands of people at the helm.

So here are some random sentence fragments and ill-formed thoughts:

a) Weather completely gorgeous (moderately hot, with a chance of dust)
b) Esplanade very big and surprisingly easy to get lost on at night. Weird but true.

c) Where would we be without Moto (who can fix broke-ass art cars)? I’ll tell you exactly where we’d be; still trying to push the Trojan Sloth back home.
d) Fire, fire everywhere.
e) There is a drop-box for glow-sticks at around 5:30 and D. Use it.
f) Pabst is the vitamin water of Black Rock City, and Jameson’s is the WD-40.
g) Ice cream. Must. have. ice. cream.
h) What the hell day is this?
i) Reverend Billy is a good dancer.

j) One of the most phenomenal photographers here is Dimitre, who had a reception last night at the Commissary. He’s so good he makes you want to put away your  camera  and weep quietly in the corner. Also? An amazingly good guy.
k) Age is just a frame of mind; except when you feel it in your bones.

And here are some pictures (the black and whites are by Dimitre, too). I hope they suffice for now.

David Nergaard’s 1922 Stanley steamer had lain abandoned for many years to decay until it was found in the 1950s. At that point a custom body was built for it and the steam plant installed. The car is regularly driven and David puts about 5000 miles per year on the clock. You can read more about [...]

It’s gorgeous again; bright, sunny and cool, even at almost 10 am on Tuesday. “Could we get this to last all day?” my campmate Scout asked. “I’d pay money,” I said, but there’s no commerce on the playa.

Well, almost none. Coffee and ice. That’s it. Everything else you have to score (although that’s probably not the best way of putting it). But you can buy lemonade and electrolyte fluid in Center Camp now, in addition to the coffee and latte and chai.

Yesterday seems like a long time ago. There aren’t a lot of happy ways of dealing with dust. Ed had to choose between getting hammered in the tent, or suffocating in the car. He chose the car, with an occasional blast of AC.

I’d been laboring under the impression that the worst of it was localized in the center of the city. So Kid Hack and I took off for outlying regions, hoping for a break. We found it out at the airport. Plenty of wind, but no dust storm. We could look back over toward the entrance road and see the mess everyone was in. But we were blissfully clean and clear. I felt like I was being dusted by a can of air, like the kind you use to keep your computer clean. But this air was cleaning my whole body. Heaven.

The airport is in a far corner of the city, and on the way back we took a trip through the “suburbs” of the city. It was still very roomy out there, lots of spaces between the camps, but that’ll change as the week goes on. But right now, it’s Walnut Creek; plenty of room, and houses on big plots of land. And the vibe is extremely friendly. As we cruised by, one of the camps was setting up for dinner, three or four utility tables set up end to end, covered with food and drink. One guy saw me looking longingly, and he shouted, “Join us!” But we had missions to accomplish and had to carry on.

(But don’t think for a second that I am suffering any kind of deprivation. Remember the other day when I said you didn’t have to bring all that food, because people were going to feed you unexpectedly? It happened to me in the morning; Maid Marion had a brunch bash, and there were beignets, and chocolate-drizzled bacon (You heard right. Try it. It rivals cookie dough ice cream for genius combinations), and fresh fruit and coffee and … well, you get the idea. And you really don’t have to be a fancy-pants First Camper for this kind of thing to happen.) (But today? Half a cheese sandwich I bought in Empire. It comes and goes.)

The early part of the week is still my favorite time. Things aren’t quite pumping at full strength yet, and because so many people need help setting things up, you can be of use to others. It’s all very communal.

Even the night time is at a good pitch. There are lots of impromptu dance parties, and not necessarily at the big clubs out towards the end of the Esplanade. Last night everyone thought Glitter Camp was nailing it just right; the magic just seems to happen at some places some times.

Down the road, there was a huge crowd at the Opulent Temple, although huge on Monday night is a lot different than huge on Thursday or Friday night. Last night you could still maneuver around pretty easily, and the mood didn’t have that end-of-the-night desperation that sometimes sets in as Burn night gets closer.

At any rate, the kids were grooving, and you were reminded that that yeah, this whole thing is one big dance party, too. Fur and glow and and thongs and chests and boots and heels and dancing. At one point, the DJ ditched the music to welcome everyone and say how hard Opulent worked to get everything ready to go on the first night. “And two other things,” he yelled. “Don’t effing litter. … And tell Burning Man what you think about having dance clubs on their playa!” Roars from the crowd, a blast of fire, and the music was back on.

Not too far away, but past some dunes that were worthy of the Sahara (it’s a bitch getting around this year. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. You’re peddling along and then wham! you hit a patch of playa that’s four or five inches deep.There were a bunch of times I just couldn’t power through it, and I’m usually pretty good at it), work was proceeding on the Temple.

There was still caution tape up, and even at midnight there were a whole bunch of people working. The site was lit up like a ballpark for a night game, so bright and shiny that it was almost unreal. It was getting pretty chilly out there; the cold front that was promised had arrived. Small knots of people were gathered behind the police tape, briefly checking out the scene, then wandering off.

We made out way back to Center Camp, which has really turned into something beautiful. The Decor crew has been laboring mightily, it’s clear. Marsha and Danger Ass are huddled constantly, details details details. But the space is really pretty, and different. Funny little scarecrow-like figures with glowing globe heads stand like sentries as you enter. Multicolored string lights have been attached to the center cables, and last night, they contrasted nicely with the glowing rings that the hoopers were working with.

There was a guy playing an electric violin, and there was plenty of room on the couches, and the vibe was extremely chill. Rest and recovery and respite at the end of a howling day.

And we’re off …

The gates opened last night and the cars and trailers and trucks and mutant vehicles came streaming through, to the whoops and hollers of those just arriving, and from the people welcoming them Home. All the weeks and months of work had coalesced into this moment of relief and joy and anticipation and excitement. The guests have arrived, and dinner is served.

It was a beautiful night in Black Rock City. There had been steady winds of about 25 mph all day long, and the forecast was for increasing gusts, but when night fell the air was calm. It made for a festive night.

“I love this place!” one person shouted, for no apparent reason. “I love this place more!” answered another.

Out at the Man, cars and bikes and blinking people lined up around the perimeter of the base, waiting for the clock to strike 12 so they could climb the winding staircase to the top. BMIR was broadcasting the countdown, like some mutant version of Dick Clark’s New Years Eve show on TV. When the witching hour arrived, and the radio was playing “Consider yourself, at home! Consider yourself, part of the family!,” up and up the people went to get a view of the Man and a view of the city. Poor Betty June was stationed at one side of the staircase, patiently telling people that the “up” stairwell was on the other side, and then helping people as they made their way down. She’d be on duty till 4 in the morning, and there will be someone stationed there round the clock, all week long, letting people know that one way’s up, and the other way’s down.

Over at Kate’s Raudenbush’s “Altered States,” the work lights blinked off, and then the birdcage glowed red in the darkness. It is just so gorgeous. There was a sweet moment for Kate and the crew; appetizers were spread out inside the dome, champagne corks were popped, and heartfelt words were spoken. “This is for all of you,” Kate said, tearing up. “It just couldn’t have happened without you.”

Then she had everyone, on the count of three, pull out a branch from beneath the table, each person coming away with a little piece of the whole. It was very touching, and they all seemed like family standing there celebrating together.

And the piece really does look like a glowing Capitol building from a distance (it’s designed after the U.S. Senate building). But when you pull up closer you see the Native American-inspired scrollwork on the dome. And then you see the swings in the center and then you are struck by the troubled relationship between Native Americans, the U.S. government, and what it’s like to live where someone says you must.

The open areas beyond the Esplanade have filled in nicely with beautiful and provocative art. The giant red poppy field was glowing in the night, a completely different experience than coming upon it during the day, when the red petals leap out against the ridiculously blue sky. A nearby piece featured centerpieces of translucent multicolored dildos, again, all glowy in the night. More than a couple of people broke out laughing when the came up close enough to see what they were looking at. “Don’t forget to touch them,” one girl squealed.

The morning broke beautifully (after a very obnoxious wake-up call from some person or persons at Center Camp, who thought it would be really cool, I guess, to really really BLAST some early ’80s crappy disco music at, oh, around 5:30 in the morning. All I can say to that is, dude, you are affecting my experience.) (And while we’re on the subject, have you ever noticed how often there is an inverse correlation between the loudness of the music and the number of people at the party? Like, the loudest places are often empty. Not true at all at the kicking dance clubs out on the edge of town; that’s where it really happens. It’s loud, it grooves, DJs get flown in for the gigs, it’s all incredibly smoking. But Center Camp at dawn? Not so much.) (PS: end of rant.)

So the people have been streaming in all day, and now the wind is just blowing and blowing and blowing. The dust blots out everything. It’s not sunny out anymore, it’s just varying shades of brown. I haven’t been able to see the Man all day. Sometimes, you can’t see across the street. Sometimes, you just can’t see a thing; you just stand there and wait for it to pass.

I wonder what it’s like on the perimeter. My guess is the sun is shining out there, and all this looks like a bad dream.

New York camp was spreading out all over the city. For days and days now, Big Apple Burners have been picking up their gear from three huge containers that were shipped across country. More than 300 people rented space in the containers, so that they didn’t have to haul all that stuff themselves. It’s an amazing operation. Everything was packed up in Jersey City weeks ago, put on rails, and three transfers later the containers were put on trucks in Reno for the trip to Black Rock. Of course, the truck drivers got lost, missed the entrance to the Burn, wound up 30 miles down the road, tried to turn around and got stuck in the sand … but all that’s another story.

New York is one of the huge regional Burner operations, and they’re a big part of the scene here. Down the road from where New York was unloading, two huge containers from Boston and another from Philadelphia were distributing gear, the scene something like a pickup dock at Best Buy, only gone all funky and nuts.

Tigger, one of the New York crew, has two camps at the Burn, “one on each side of the Esplanade, so I can sleep where I wind up at night.” Sounds perfectly logical. She calls one place her “pied a tent.” Sweet.

So welcome home, all you who have arrived today. Just a few things to remember:

1) You’re going to lose stuff. Just accept it. Have faith that the missing merchandise will reappear when you make your way home. I haven’t seen my iPhone in 10 days; I’m trusting that somewhere, in all my stuff, it’s waiting for me to find it.
2) This dust will cease. It will. A cold front is coming through, and when it arrives, the wind will die down, it’ll be cooler at night and then only in the 90s during the day, instead of the 100s that it’s been. 3) Understand that by the time you have finally arrived at the most efficient way of organizing your gear, when you know exactly where to find the things you need when you need them, it’s going to be time to go home.
4) WD-40 works really well on messed-up zippers. In a pinch, Chapstick or soap might help, too; and
5) It sounds gross, but it’s true: Piss clear. It’s the way to know you’re hydrating properly.