It’s a natural for Neurotic Man to visit Burning Man. I’m hot, he’s hot. On the other hand there is also the dirt (some people call it sand), porta potties (they even say people line up to use them – that’s not going to happen), hygiene (40,000+ people camping in the desert for a week), tents (they’ve got to be kidding), recycled food…Did I mention the dirt?
On the other hand it’s a time warp. I’ve seen pictures and it seemed like the Haight’s Summer of Love. Bunch of hippie babes not wearing any undies, many of them capable of tuning into the NM’s personal angst. Just because I spoke an exotic language (Woody Allen-neuroses-speak) they gravitated to me like flies swarming rotten meat in a fly trap.
It happened like this. Ponce De Leon Grabowski and Rodney Woolworth III, my neighbors and proud parents of Charles Almond Joy took their little darling for a walk off the leash which is their custom and totally, totally against the law when the little darling rushed out into the street responding to some until then primal urge. Reggae Bob, my Rastafarian bud (ha!) was driving down the street lighting up a ginormous doobie heading straight ahead into a collision with the English Bulldog who lay down in the middle of the street, panting heavily, as his 4 second outburst of energy had completely fatigued him. NM (that’s me) took this all in during the split second my paranoid senses focused on theimpending catastrophe. I ran out into the street and scooped up the mutt just in time to have Reggae Bob’s flimsy bumper collide with my right leg sending me sprawling on his hood and causing me to remember that I had never replaced the happy face on his hood that I covered with spray paint and was responsible for. Ponce shrieked, Rodney shrieked. Charles (who I used as a cushion protecting my body from that filthy, filthy car) shrieked, I shrieked, and Bob leaned out of the car window and said, (Mon, you needing da’ toke?)
For my heroic* duties the extremely weird but extremely wealthy pair offered to cover all my expenses and drive me to Burning Man. I figured I could pad my expense account a bit on the way and as I said there were all these bra-less and panty-less hippie babes prancing about surrounded by guys too stoned to notice them. In addition, Burning Man has a theme each year and this year the theme was Fertility II. Unfortunately on the drive out to the desert it came out that Ponce and Rodney were not too thrilled with me for using their doggie as a cushion. They told me that due to ourmisadventure Charles hurt his front right leg which was now in a sling. Ponce and Rodney maliciously wanted to watch me try to cope with the dirt, the sand, and of course, the toilets. As for the dirt sand I brought with me 20 dozen of those little booties you usually use to put over your shoes to protect the rich carpet at construction sites or in new homes. But in this case I put them over my shoes to protect my shoes. And as for the bathrooms, Reggae Bob also came out to Burning Man and to make up for hitting me we negotiated for him to take me to the nearby town of Thermal twice a day. I understand they have a motel with an attached restaurant.
What Rodney and Ponce didn’t know was that I had reserved a room for the week at the motel. I planned for Reggae Bob to pick me up each morning and drop me off near the entrance to Burning Man where I would slip on my little booties and meet the pair. I figured I could spout some nonsense about being a vision quest and hit one of them up for food money eachday and some ridiculousness like giving a donation to a yogi. Or two. If they got suspicious about my sudden spirituality I could switch to telling them that I was spending some time with one of the hippie broads which would only be true if she came back to my motel room with me. If I couldn’t get any of the hippie women to leave the muck then the only women I would be spending time with would be on Pay TV.
I plan to leave the motel for the burning of Burning Man. It’s just one of those things, like the first time you get to light Seder candles.
*If the dog got squashed he got squashed. I just knew if something happened to the little darling I would be conscripted for clean-up duties and then cry on your uncle NM’s shoulder for both Ponce and Rodney.