Date Night

I've been on my own as of late. Being solitary isn't a bad thing from time to time. I begin to notice things around me that maybe were previously ignored due to the distraction of others around me. I've taken up crocheting again, finally have time to read my stack of New Yorkers cover to cover and enjoy the company of my four cats.

OK, being on my own has some slippery slopes. So instead of staying home making sweaters for my cats on Saturday, I decided to take myself out on a date.

After a typical Saturday of running errands and doing chores, I took a shower, dressed, put on nice-looking but potentially painful shoes, shaded my eyes and headed out for dinner, a movie and drinks after.

Armed with a back-issue of the New Yorker, I opted to sit at the bar of a local Italian chain restaurant, where I was able to fully engage with a very clever article about a teen fashion blogging phenom. I've learned that having good reading material is a must when going out alone. Reading a well written article is the equivalent of hearing a great story from a witty conversationalist. Add a good glass of wine and Pellegrino, and well, you have great dinner conversation, even if it is only between you and the writer and only in your head. On this night, I was so engrossed in my article that I agonized putting it down when my salad arrived, after my entree. It may have been an American chain, but I still order in the Italian way.

Checking the time, I paid my bill and made my way to the movie theater. Normally, I opt for German train time, but for this date, I was OK with being just a little atrazado. I entered the theatre just as the previews began, found a good seat and pulled out a container of Trader Joe's dark chocolate covered cherries.

Had I listened to that inner voice that said, "go home now, it's been a good night," I could have saved myself for what came after the movie. A cold California night hastened pain that pierced my brain as I walked to the car. I contemplated going home instead of for a drink, but decided I could tolerate one more venue if I took an Excedrin.

It was a bad gamble. The pain medication dulled my headache but couldn't cure the absolutely suck-tackular cover band that I paid a five dollar cover to see. Before I could finish my bourbon, I ordered a tall glass of water to quicken my exit. When the singer felt it necessary to preface, Jesse's Girl, I took that as my cue to leave. It wasn't a total loss though. I got home just in time to see the pilot episode of Firefly.

Overall it was a good date. I had a nice meal, saw a movie of my choice, and was able to end the evening without any "it's not you, it's me" awkwardness. And when I came home, the cats almost seemed happy to see me. If nothing else I'm sure they were happy to not have to wear an embarrassing sweater.

To Geek or Not to Geek

I'm a Geek. It took me years to accept it, but now I embrace it. It's who I am and I wear the badge proudly.

What is a Geek? That depends on your definition. We're not exotic enough to be misfits, extroverted enough to be mavericks nor malleable enough to be with the in-crowd. We are creative, thoughtful, curious and brave. We deconstruct, figure out, re-imagine, and innovate for fun, seeking out knowledge, appreciating insight, and doing our best to understand the world around us.

The best of us realize this early, and understand that having the will to stand alone with your imagination, thoughts and beliefs takes a special kind of fortitude. These are the bravest among us. They are the ones willing to take the risk of not trying to fit in early. Perhaps it's because they realize that fitting in is just a slick slide down to status quo and the boredom that suck a life implies.

I wasn't one of those. Even though I was flute playing, theatre performing, documentary watching twelve year old, I made great pains to separate myself from the kids who hung out by the library at lunch. I liked those kids. They were nice and thoughtful, and accepting and funny. There was even a boy I liked there. He was tall, cute and very sweet. We slow-danced at a school dance, but when a friend told me that she heard he had wet his pants at school, it was too much for me to brave. I never talked to him or went back to the library for lunch again. I wanted to be cool and these kids weren't cool. They were brave. But, I couldn't see it.

So I sought out a different crowd. I started smoking, drank some, cut school, did other nefarious deeds. After a few years of escalating trouble I landed in catholic high school. I had a few friends there, but by then we had learned how to at least not get caught doing naughty things. There were some odd flirtations with religion there as well, and though I was much kinder to geeks then, I still refused to see myself as one.

Twenty-plus years and several lives later, I realize I was a geek all along, and wonder why I ever denied it. It's one thing to learn to be comfortable in your own skin...it's another be comfortable in your own mind. And now, by the power of the information age, geeks rule and it's pretty awesome in a lot of ways.

Truth in Advertising and Easy Solutions

Well, a new year is upon us, with its predictable round of advertisements for diet plans and exercise programs. It seems the beginning of the year is an ideal time to begin new regimes and disciplines that help us to be better individuals. For some reason in January it is easier to imagine ourselves as more athletic, thinner and with fewer bad habits. Be it electronic cigarettes or fast food, in January everything is somehow geared to make us better people. Among advertisements in this trend I noticed that one fast food chain is now offering "natural cut fries with sea salt," as if being naturally cut with sea salt actually makes them good for you.



Of course, one wonders what exactly is a naturally cut potato? Is it grown in a special place where naturally formed crystals share the soil and through some special happenstance of circumstance the ground apple emerges pre-cut like a honey-baked ham? And even if this were the case, it doesn't change the fact that once saturated in hot boiling oil, and covered in salt from sea or table, it's both a tasty treat and potentially deadly foe. But it's January after all, thus even french fries can somehow be good for you when cut naturally and covered in something as natural as sea salt, right?

I suppose we can't blame advertisers who take advantage of our annual desire to be better people. What we can blame is our willingness to be taken by easy solutions. Solutions can be simple, but seldom easy. The former requires creative and elegant thought that choreographs effort with willingness and imagination. When such a circumstance is achieved one imagines that a great number of problems we encounter would be simple to solve. The latter simply calls for a desire to achieve goals with little effort, implying a lack of genuine will.

I don't really make New Year's resolutions. It seems that for me, resolve comes once I've decided to act on my contemplations, and that comes in its own time. And as much as I desire easy solutions, I know I have to have patience enough for my imagination and will to allamande making a perfect geometry that will show me how everything eventually ends up in its rightful place.

Oh, Happy New Year.

Decompressing

Decompression is a term Burners use to describe the process of re-entering what we call the Default World. You see, Burning Man, can feel like an alternate universe. We do things there we don't do in regular life. We make eye contact with everyone we meet. We celebrate sun up and sun down. We hug like we mean it. We give, we get, we live.

Someone reminded me this year that time spent on the Playa, like dog years can be multiplied by seven. Using that math, I spent the equivalent of about 10 weeks in that universe. So yeah, it takes a bit to adapt from that.

Unfortunately, I had just as hard a landing in the Default World this year, as I did on the Playa. It just seems that hard landings are my new MO. So, it's taken until now, the week of San Francisco's actual Decompression, essentially a block party-after party for the Burn, to get my bearings.

Funny thing is, I decompressed from camping in the desert, by camping in the California hills near a reservoir with friends. It's amazing how much easier camping is without blistering heat, 40 mph winds, and the constant threat of dehydration. And it occurred to me that by going to Burning Man, a place of impossible conditions to escape norms that stymie creativity, that maybe we appreciate expression that much more when we are there. And by the same token, maybe I appreciate how much easier some things are in the default world, so I can remember I don't have to be in a challenging environment to be creative.

Sanctuary in Work - Burning Man 2010

For me, work often cures a myriad of ills. Work distracts me. Work occupies me. Work is one of the things I do best.

After a very stressful, and very expensive trip to the Burn, I was actually ready to turn around and cut my losses. What was I thinking coming out to the desert for 10 days? I wanted to be in the default world, with my family who couldn’t come.

But I decided to continue on as planned, to my first shift with the Gate Crew. I got there, checked in, got my t-shirt and hoodie, got my laminate, and then sat down in the Black Hole to take in the scene.

Old couches sat upon old carpet laid to keep the dust down. Camping chairs left in a circled formation from the night before, continued to hold council around a still smoldering burn barrel. A crewmember slept in a hammock strung between two beams of the shade structure, as others came through looking tired but motivated.
The first shift with Gate includes an hour-long orientation. We learned do’s and don’ts, safety, what to look for, what to expect. Before long, we were on a bus headed to the gate where we were paired into teams and put to work.

Gate crew is responsible for every person that enters Black Rock City. We take the tickets, make sure folks aren’t bringing in forbidden items: guns, explosives, fireworks, dogs, live plants, feather boas, people without tickets, and then send them on there way down gate road to get hugs and excitement from the Greeters.

Working Gate is a dangerous job. There are a lot of vehicles, driven by weary but excited drivers, in various states of cogency. Exhaust combined with dust and beating sun, make for challenging work conditions, as does early morning cold when working the overnight shift. But there’s nothing like seeing a horizon that begins to glow with the earliest hints of day light before the sun rises.

Working the event changed my perspective about the Burn. I realized that I was no longer merely a participant. I was now one of many who help make it all happen.

After my first shift, I felt better, more like I was Home again.

Hard Entry, Hard Landing - Burning Man 2010

“So how was Burning Man?”

“Good,” I say. “I worked a lot.”

It’s true, I worked seven shifts with the gate crew for a total of about 46 hours. Next time I plan to work more.

It’s a totally different Burn from that perspective. Being among those who make it happen makes a big difference in the experience. We participate, but with far more commitment. I marveled at the Gate Crew veterans, their dedication, their stamina. As a new crew member I just did my best to keep up on the shifts that I covered.

It was a hard entry into the Burn this year. After weeks of preparation, my anticipation went into a fever pitch the week before the Burn. So did my anxiety. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something felt out of wack. Low level nervousness turned into low level panic, but I had no logical reason why.

Thursday, the week before my departure brought the first blow. While in UN Plaza, in San Francisco, I somehow, lost my Burning Van keys. Gone! No where to be found. And…no spares. Several phone calls, about 5 hours and two locksmiths later, I had a fresh set of keys and a set of spares. Tragedy averted. Or so I thought.

One week later, I was in SF again, this time to pick up equipment for my riders. It all seemed to be going well, but I couldn’t help but have a serious case of the Heebee Jeebies. I was anxious for no good reason. Everything was packed. We would leave in the morning. But I felt like something wasn’t quite right.

My fears were finally realized as we started ascending the Sierra Nevada. Blinking warning lights that would seal our fate hastened my blood pressure to raise. We managed to make it to Truckee, but not without causing damage to the engine.

The news from the mechanic wasn’t good. What made it worse was that he didn’t think the work would be completed until the following Wednesday. My heart sank. He gave me a card for the local rental car company, that maybe a little to coincidentally had a Suburban available for the week. I jumped at it.



With my blood pressure causing a light popping in my ears, I drove the rental back to the mechanic’s where my travel companions took over unloading the Burning Van and loading the Suburban. We arrived on the Playa about 6 hours later than we had planned, but we made it. But, for the first time I wasn’t overjoyed to be there. I didn’t want to be there at all. I needed comfort. I needed to not have spent a small fortune to get there. I needed my blood pressure to go down.

The next morning, after some restless sleep in the truck, I found my way to medical. The popping in my ears had stopped but I still felt loopy.

“130 over 92” the nurse announced when she checked it a second time.

“It’s a little high.”

After contemplating my options, I decided to at least set up a basic camp, and work my first shift with the Gate crew, before deciding to leave. So I did just that. I set up my tent, stowed some gear, had enough time to grab some water and my Playa pack and headed to the Black Hole, headquarters for PG&E, Perimeter, Gate & Exodus crew.

My Three Favorite Cities

As I plan my pilgrimage to my most favorite city, I started to think about my other favorite places. But first, a brief preface. I’m not what one would call exceptionally well traveled. I’ve been places, St. Louis, Seattle, San Antonio, Indianapolis, Vancouver, Las Vegas, Vienna, Venezia, Frankfurt, Heidelberg, Garmish, and Fulda to name a few. These are places in which I’ve actually spent some measure of time. I don’t include lay over cities like London, Salt Lake, Phoenix or Chicago. The list of places I haven’t been is by far much longer. I’ve never been to Boston for instance, nor Miami, Honolulu, or any major cities in Central or South America. I’ve also never been to any city in Africa, Australia or Asia. One of these will be remedied however in the year to come. More on that later. So, with all that said, here are my current favorite cities.

Number 3 – San Francisco, California

It never occurred to me how much I love this city until I left it for a time. I didn’t grow up in the City but in the outer Bay Area. But, we frequented it often. I had an uncle who lived on the pan-handle of Golden Gate Park. My older sister attended modeling school there. At the end of summer we use to hit the factory stores in the warehouse district, (now called SOMA) And sometimes, we would just go on a Friday night to explore China Town, and eat fried rice in a dinky restaurant in which you enter through the kitchen by way of an alley. In those days, San Francisco was still full of animated neon. The Hills Brother’s Coffee Man would great us from the Bay Bridge, bright red nipples flashed on Broadway, and Coca Cola simply just dazzled. It was an odd mix of glam and hippy art and love.

I work there now, so I still enjoy San Francisco, but not in quite the same way. Now I see it as a world class city, with diversity, and food, innovation and entertainment. Hippies are largely replaced with Hipsters, CocaCola still dazzles but little else does at night. SOMA is a district of tall shiny condos with shiny people to match. And there is a palatable level of smug largely possessed by those who did not grow up here. Despite all this, I still love San Francisco, it’s charm, it’s character and it’s people. I like seeing flash mobs, naked people running in the Bay to Breakers and other outward signs of expression that probably just wouldn’t fly anywhere else. I like eating crab with friends at Fisherman’s Warf on Sunday mornings. I like watching what looks like insane piles of houses on hills with intermittent towers that jut out like outcrops as I approach on the ferry in the mornings. It’s a great place to go 5 days a week, and I wouldn’t even mind living there.

Number 2 – Verona, Italy

I lived in Italy for three years between Verona and Venezia (Venice). Now, some might be surprised to hear that between those two cities, I would pick Verona over Venezia. I’ll admit, that it’s a beautiful place. The canals are enchanting, the food amazing, and the architecture breathtaking. But Verona is a city that is a little more my speed. It’s an old Roman City, the city of Romeo and Juliet, and an amazing cultural center.

Because it’s a Roman City, it has it’s own coliseum that is still in use. When I was there I went to the Ballet and rock concerts in the coliseum. The city center (Centro) is also laid out in concentric circles which can be a little disorienting when walking around drunk at night in the rain (another story entirely). Verona boasts one of the oldest market places in Europe, as well as a McDonalds. It has towers, city walls, ruins, Juliet’s balcony and her tomb. But all these reasons combined aren’t why I love this city so much. Beginning with my very first visit, I felt a connection with this city. It’s the kind of city that is automatically familiar. I think it’s because it’s both provincial and urban at the same time. It’s a place I dream about often, and hope to return to some day.

Number 1 – Black Rock City, Nevada

Black Rock City is the temporary establishment built on the Black Rock Dessert during the Burning Man Festival. If I’m lucky, once a year I get to call this place home for a week. Although temporary, BRC has a culture, an infrastructure, and even street names. We have DPW, Department of Public Works who create our perimeter, build our streets, build Center Camp, and many other places that support our citizens. We have DMV, Department of Mutant Vehicles who license art cars which act as our public transportation on the Playa. We have ESD, Emergency Services Department that includes doctors, nurses, EMT’s, and other Emergency personnel. And, we have our own intervention/resolution force (as opposed to police) called the Black Rock Rangers.

Black Rock City is a place to play, but also to appreciate. We believe in Radical Self Reliance, which means we don’t look to others to meet our needs, but at the same time we look out for each other. The absurd is encouraged, as is kindness, generosity and love. My love for Black Rock City is not based on the locale, although I’ve grown to love the vastness of the Playa. It’s not based on the architecture either, because save the Man, the architecture changes every year. I love Black Rock City for both the culture and the possibilities. Surprises are everywhere. Most are good, some are bad, (i.e. “Who left crap on the PortaJon seat?”)

In a little more than 24 hours I will depart for this place as I have done 5 times before. I must admit, that this year’s excursion is made with some apprehension, but the one thing I know is once I’m there, I can expect an amazing hug, new friends, and surprises around every corner.

Hasta la Playa!

-Clarity