de fault ia
A space ship, coming out of warp drive. All the stars suddenly change from long thin prismatic lines back into single point sources. My face slams into reality again.
It's 4 AM and I can't sleep. I go back to work today. My circadian is out of phase. The house is a wreck. Bits of last minute project (which looked beautiful on the playa, and lit the shade structure nicely at night) litter the living room, the dining area, and the garage.
Who was that? Three new friends on facebook, including the wild girl (no water? a camelbak with no hose?) with unbelievable stories that (so far) check out as true. Will these be lifelong friends? Only time will tell. I need to email the brits. They had some awesome stories as well.
Trudging out on the playa. I'm incredibly out of shape. Karla and I go out to the Temple. I write on the walls for my father (bad plumbing, who knew?), and a dear friend (seriously? cancer? Fuck cancer). Wander randomly and trip over the smaller temple others have built for the dear friend. Deep, mortal, and existential thoughts. And much painful trudging for an older couple who are starting to realize that the warranty has expired. We make it back to Fandango and plop on a couch, dog tired from walking, and in a sour mood, only to get flipped off by the bartender for not immediately getting a drink. Really? Do you really want me here? Do you know who I am? And then he insults my wife. We leave, with no plans to return. Ever.
And the children come back with "Fuck your burn". I hear Austin has a new playa name. *sigh*
While we were gone, close friends borrowed my second trailer. Happy nothing went awry because of my license plate shenanigans. I've swiped it back, replaced the license plate, and loaded it up with trash. Maybe today I'll unload that. Reality is coming back into focus.
To tired to do anything, we go to the store, and load up on frozen food, light beer, and junk food. Dinner is large portobello mushroom tortellini in a marsala wine sauce. Frozen, from a bag, it is ready and damn tasty in 20 minutes. We watch Doctor Who, the latest. I'm shocked to see the character of "Oswin" played by Jenna-Louise Coleman, the purported "next companion" appear in the first episode of the season. I ponder what to show next Monday, as I munch cheetos. Prismatic stars slamming back to point sources. As a follow up we watch "Bubba Ho-tep", mostly because I can't find any other Bruce Campbell on netflix instant streaming. Exhausted, I fall asleep at 8pm.
On the playa, someone cries out for attention, "I don't want to live any more". She gets attention. It's of the soft love variety, which is probably what she needs. Karla has taken her dried frog pills erratically, and tells me she would have been much harsher, if she had gotten there first. I wish I knew what to do for my friends who are so clearly hurt and confused. Reality, coming into focus, I ponder physical health issues driving emotional turmoil. (not to mention smoking cigarettes (which is a red herring at this point in the nonlinear narrative)) On the car ride back, Karla and I play a "what if?" game, reshuffling all the new ex-couples in our social group. I giggle, wondering if it's possible to send some of my friends on blind dates with people they already know.
And then there's unpacking. So many things. All of the things. We unpack the 5 most important things. Karla and I have decided to be more organized about the big fucking camping trip. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Maybe it'll make repacking easier next year. On the up side, starting exodus at 8:30 AM Monday morning was a dream. Off the playa in about 2 hours, another 2 to Fernley, and another half hour east to a half empty Motel 6 in Fallon. Dominoes for room service, I eat a monster baked philly cheesesteak sandwich (no bell peppers, just the way I like it), and wonder why there's so god damn much playa on my drying towel. Next time, scrub harder in the shower. We turn in early, and I awake bright and chipper at 2AM to start the drive, and make it in to SLO by 1PM on Tuesday.
If I'm tired again tonight at 8PM I'm slorping an energy drink, caffeine be damned.
Ticket fiasco did bad things to the playa. Too many dark tards. Sparkle ponies who didn't even bring glitter. Hundreds of lost unclaimed bikes littering the playa post burn. And no big art. Nothing on the scale of the Dancer, or Crude Awakening, or the Chandelier. Even the keyhole piece was a let down (I thought the Temple of Gravity was much better).
By the way, for those who missed it, Spectrum's sparkle pony jape was hilarious. Nothing better than a first year burner who actually did her research, and came out not only prepared, but ready to poke serious fun at other first timers who weren't.
Oh, and next year? Swim. Up. Bar.
It's 4 AM and I can't sleep. I go back to work today. My circadian is out of phase. The house is a wreck. Bits of last minute project (which looked beautiful on the playa, and lit the shade structure nicely at night) litter the living room, the dining area, and the garage.
Who was that? Three new friends on facebook, including the wild girl (no water? a camelbak with no hose?) with unbelievable stories that (so far) check out as true. Will these be lifelong friends? Only time will tell. I need to email the brits. They had some awesome stories as well.
Trudging out on the playa. I'm incredibly out of shape. Karla and I go out to the Temple. I write on the walls for my father (bad plumbing, who knew?), and a dear friend (seriously? cancer? Fuck cancer). Wander randomly and trip over the smaller temple others have built for the dear friend. Deep, mortal, and existential thoughts. And much painful trudging for an older couple who are starting to realize that the warranty has expired. We make it back to Fandango and plop on a couch, dog tired from walking, and in a sour mood, only to get flipped off by the bartender for not immediately getting a drink. Really? Do you really want me here? Do you know who I am? And then he insults my wife. We leave, with no plans to return. Ever.
And the children come back with "Fuck your burn". I hear Austin has a new playa name. *sigh*
While we were gone, close friends borrowed my second trailer. Happy nothing went awry because of my license plate shenanigans. I've swiped it back, replaced the license plate, and loaded it up with trash. Maybe today I'll unload that. Reality is coming back into focus.
To tired to do anything, we go to the store, and load up on frozen food, light beer, and junk food. Dinner is large portobello mushroom tortellini in a marsala wine sauce. Frozen, from a bag, it is ready and damn tasty in 20 minutes. We watch Doctor Who, the latest. I'm shocked to see the character of "Oswin" played by Jenna-Louise Coleman, the purported "next companion" appear in the first episode of the season. I ponder what to show next Monday, as I munch cheetos. Prismatic stars slamming back to point sources. As a follow up we watch "Bubba Ho-tep", mostly because I can't find any other Bruce Campbell on netflix instant streaming. Exhausted, I fall asleep at 8pm.
On the playa, someone cries out for attention, "I don't want to live any more". She gets attention. It's of the soft love variety, which is probably what she needs. Karla has taken her dried frog pills erratically, and tells me she would have been much harsher, if she had gotten there first. I wish I knew what to do for my friends who are so clearly hurt and confused. Reality, coming into focus, I ponder physical health issues driving emotional turmoil. (not to mention smoking cigarettes (which is a red herring at this point in the nonlinear narrative)) On the car ride back, Karla and I play a "what if?" game, reshuffling all the new ex-couples in our social group. I giggle, wondering if it's possible to send some of my friends on blind dates with people they already know.
And then there's unpacking. So many things. All of the things. We unpack the 5 most important things. Karla and I have decided to be more organized about the big fucking camping trip. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Maybe it'll make repacking easier next year. On the up side, starting exodus at 8:30 AM Monday morning was a dream. Off the playa in about 2 hours, another 2 to Fernley, and another half hour east to a half empty Motel 6 in Fallon. Dominoes for room service, I eat a monster baked philly cheesesteak sandwich (no bell peppers, just the way I like it), and wonder why there's so god damn much playa on my drying towel. Next time, scrub harder in the shower. We turn in early, and I awake bright and chipper at 2AM to start the drive, and make it in to SLO by 1PM on Tuesday.
If I'm tired again tonight at 8PM I'm slorping an energy drink, caffeine be damned.
Ticket fiasco did bad things to the playa. Too many dark tards. Sparkle ponies who didn't even bring glitter. Hundreds of lost unclaimed bikes littering the playa post burn. And no big art. Nothing on the scale of the Dancer, or Crude Awakening, or the Chandelier. Even the keyhole piece was a let down (I thought the Temple of Gravity was much better).
By the way, for those who missed it, Spectrum's sparkle pony jape was hilarious. Nothing better than a first year burner who actually did her research, and came out not only prepared, but ready to poke serious fun at other first timers who weren't.
Oh, and next year? Swim. Up. Bar.