As if I haven't had enough trouble keeping this blog up to date, I foolishly started another one back in October. The Burning Log offers a snarky look at Burning Man, everyone's favorite annual arts festival in a Nevada wasteland. I spent two weeks in and around Black Rock City this year and returned with too much material to dump here on Another Portland Blog. Click here to have a look.

With the exception of Adrien Roberts' piss n' vinegar-clogged stuff in Piss Clear and the more recent BRC Weekly, most coverage of Burning Man tends to be uber-serious and solemn. There's too much emphasis placed on "what does it all mean?" the anti-consumerist ethos and the art. So many seem to forget that the festival is, for better or worse, an excuse to go out into the desert and act like a freak for a week or two. I'm shooting for more of an Anthony Bourdain take on the dang thing, somewhere in the field between appreciative and sarcastic. Whether I've pulled this off so far, well, I'll leave that up to you.

Labels: burning man

To Whom it May Concern,

On Sunday, September 6th, myself and thousands of others who attended this year's Burning Man Festival began "Exodus", a much-maligned annual tradition. I maneuvered my car into a long line reaching up to the highway around 3:30 PM. It was a nasty day weather-wise and I and my colleagues spent the morning and afternoon watching sand storms from our office over at the Black Rock Beacon.

There was a brief break in the weather in the mid-afternoon and I made a break for it. When I pulled up to Exodus, the line was at a total standstill. I had been through this before and knew I had a long-wait ahead of me. I turned on BMIR for information and, much to my annoyance, there was a hip-hop show on the air hosted by several DJs who couldn't have cared less about what was happening over at the front gate. The volume on their mikes was higher than the buzz in their collective skulls. They prattled on endlessly about having sex with each other and all the yummy drugs they had ingested the night before.

Hey, this is Burning Man. People talking about getting laid and stoned on BMIR? This is par for the course but not during Exodus. Attendees turn to that station looking for information and nothing useful was trickling through the airwaves that afternoon. Just tons of self-indulgence, broken up with the occasional bit of music. Signs greeting visitors at the main gate tell them to tune into 94.5 FM for vital information and tips and, yes, it makes sense for DJs to goof around when there's none to relay but this was absurd.

After an hour wait in the heat and dust, I was starting to get antsy. The line hadn't budged. Something was wrong but no one on BMIR was talking about it. Finally, a member of the Black Rock Rangers showed up at the station to deliver a message but the DJs refused to let him on the air. I could hear him arguing with them as they jokingly demanded to see his credentials. He showed them his badge as he irritably told them he needed to grad a mike. They finally relented once he pulled down his pants and mooned them.

He revealed that the main gate was in total lock-down due to a missing child. OK, no prob, but that would have been nice to know AN HOUR PRIOR. Everybody in line for Exodus could have kept an eye out instead of becoming steadily more and more frustrated with the wait. 20 minutes later, the gate opened and inched forward about 50 yards.

Other attendees in the cars around me were getting cranky, very cranky. One guy wandered from car to car, desperate for information. Someone else trotted a few feet from their car to relieve themselves in full view of us all and onto the playa floor. Others started drinking to kill time, always a bad idea before a long drive through the desert.

I had read about the new "pulse" system the administration had planned to trot out this year. Despite their noble intentions, guess what? This plan stunk worse than a Port-a-Pot after a virgin Burner has tipped it over while puking their brains out. The only thing that could have made this year's unbearable Exodus more tolerable would have been updates on BMIR, every ten minutes, at the very least. After two hours of waiting and with my bladder on the verge of exploding, I drove under the flag divider and pointed my car towards the highway, stopping only briefly during a white-out.

I was disgusted when I reached the turn-off to discover only a handful of volunteers running Exodus. They were confused and overwhelmed. A naive guy, no more than 21, bounded out of his Rangers truck to stop me at the gate. "Who are you," he demanded to know. I calmly explained that I was tired of waiting and had a family emergency. I absolutely needed to make a call in Gerlach, ASAP. "Ok, go ahead," the young Ranger spat at me with a sneer. "You're special. Very special!"

Of course, there was no emergency, other than that I had a long drive ahead of me and, if I had fallen asleep at the wheel, it would have resulted in one hell of a family crisis. Not that he knew this. That said, during future Burns, I will be using this devious tactic to avoid the nasty, irritating process that is Exodus.

You can cry "but what about radical self-reliance" until your lungs bleed but there HAS to be a better way to execute Exodus. Rather than merely moan and groan, I'd like to offer this suggestion.....

Continue with the pulse plan but in smaller groups so the line moves more than once every hour. Yes, it's an excellent concept that prevents engine idling and tons of carbon from drifting into the atmosphere. I think we can all agree on that. Also: snag professional volunteers to man the boards at BMIR on Sunday afternoon to keep the tired, cranky crowd at Exodus informed. We could have also used more Port-a-Pots out there. Many, many more. As it stands, the pulse system is deeply flawed and led to drinking, confusion and endangered the safety of thousands of Burners.

You can do better. We can all do better.

Cheers,

-Brandon

Labels: burning man, off-topic, travels

There's a lot to loath about Black Rock City and much of it is incapsulated in this short essay "Why I Will Never Go to Burning Man." I vowed to never return after last year. I told friends that "once is more than enough." Still, I felt like I hadn't really experienced the dang thing. Plus, I've always wanted to work on a festival but I've never had the time until this summer. I was intrigued by the idea of watching Black Rock City rise up out of the dust of the playa and to see if Burning Man's high-falooting ideals of "leaving the real world behind," and "building a better world" were true from a behind-the-scenes perspective.

As mentioned in a prior post, I've been here in Nevada since Monday night. I rode out with a writer from Portland who I'll refer to as "Brenda" and traded a ride in exchange for her extra Early Entry Pass. Brenda, who I doubt will ever read these words, embodies a lot of the negative aspects and stereotypes that I associate with the festival. She's flighty, condescending, pretentious and acts like she's 22 but she's actually 42. Brenda's a Burner who breaks out phrases like "you can't understand Burning Man if you've never been there."

I call BS on that. Do you want to know what this festival is all about? I'll wrap it up in a nutshell right now: "it allows people from all walks of life to roll out into the middle of a wasteland in Nevada to dress up in funny costumes, feel spiritual, boost their pride at being able to live in a rugged environment for a week, look at modern art, see naked people and/or do drugs (mushrooms, ecstasy or pot)."

While Brenda was chatty and pleasant on the drive out, she turned into an entirely different person as we drove down the final stretch of highway to Burning Man. On the desert floor Brenda uses a code name, like many Burners do, typically referred to as "playnyms" or "playa names."

The good-natured, intelligent but daffy gal I had spent the prior nine hours with turned into a gregarious, childish weirdo as we pulled up to the Black Rock City gates. She put on a pair of rabbit ears and began bouncing around the car like a pre-schooler. Brenda, now in full bunny mode, hopped out of the car while it was still moving to hug a guy at the front gates. I ceased to exist and she treated me like a cab driver from there on out. I dropped Brenda off at her camp and that was that.

Offers to help me out with a few meal vouchers and a volunteer gig were instantly forgotten. I wandered into the Info Tent on Wednesday and found her sitting on a couch with a group of her colleagues. I said, "hello" and she couldn't be bothered to acknowledge my existence, sort of like a prom queen ignoring a nerd in a high school cafeteria. Everybody around her was equally cool and bristled when I dared to ask for a piece of duct tape.

But no matter. A colleague from Portland put me in touch with an artist named Capra J'neva and her crew, all of them from town, who are in the process of building a "fire chapel." They began work on what they're calling "The Aeolian Pyrophonic Hall and Whispering Wall" back in March and started constructing its parts in May with a crew of local volunteers. For a full rundown on the installation, check out the YouTube video below.

I rolled out to their project site on the desert floor on Tuesday night and they welcomed me into their flock. Their attitude was totally different than the "too cool for school" cold shoulders I had received from Brenda and her Info Tent pals. My preconceptions about the arrogance of Burners quickly melted as I chatted with a fellow named Matthew, a Portland architect who designed the 2008 temple and has been commissioned to construct the 2012 edition. With next to no construction work experience to offer, there was little I could do that first night but help hoist arches and hold ladders. Nevertheless, Capra's crew found little things for me to do and helped me feel welcome.

Matthew insisted on shutting things down to allow everyone to watch the sunset and the moon rise over the hills in the distance. Despite the heat, the vibe and general atmosphere out there was, I'll be honest, downright magical and oozed with the positive aura and community involvement I had been told about by veterans of the festival. It was amazing to watch, first hand, a group of volunteers work on a difficult project in the blazing heat of August in Nevada while staying upbeat and not complaining. At sunset, someone rolled out a pair of speakers and began playing Bollywood soundtrack that meshed perfectly with the mood.

I returned on Wednesday morning and painted portions of the exterior walls before soaring temperatures forced the crew to shut down shop for an afternoon siesta. I returned in the evening and did my best to stay out of the way as more experienced members of the crew used a diesel-powered lift to install portions of the exterior. An artist named Mike, who is out here for his 16th straight year, allowed me to assist him with putting together the large "fire organ" that will serve as the chapel's centerpiece. Along with another greenhorn from Phillidelphia, we spent the evening tightening bolts and screwing pipes into this monster.

I had intended to return on Thursday but high winds and heat convinced me not to truck back out to the project site. Capra and her collaborator/partner Mark had been talking about shutting things down due to weather in order to make a run to Empire for supplies. With a dust storm coming in and visibility dwindling to a mere five feet from my nose, I decided to flee to Reno for the day.

Cheers to Capra, Mark, Matthew, Buffalo, Mike, Matty, Hot Stuff, Trisha, Tink, Christopher and everybody else involved with the project. Also: thanks for the spaghetti, guys! If you're heading out to Black Rock City this year, the Hall can be found about 500 yards from the Temple on the city side. You can't miss it.

Labels: art, burning man, off topic

I've been out in Black Rock City since Monday enduring heat, windstorms and several members of the "Too Cool for School" crowd. I arrived early to help out with an art display that's been put together by a group from the Portland area and I'll be working as a cub reporter for the Black Rock Beacon beginning this weekend.

As friendly and welcoming as some of the Burners have been, there's a somewhat nasty social hierarchy out here that places artists at the bottom of the pecking order. "Crew members," as they're called, are given special bracelets and are allowed to eat free meals in a large mess tent. Artists, meanwhile, are mostly left to fend for themselves. This is hard to fathom since the 40K+ people that attend Burning Man are all here to take in weird art displays ranging from the "fire chapel" I'm helping out with to the tower pictured below. Although, a new group has come together to help "feed the artists."

Anyway, here's a Flickr gallery of shots from out here in Black Rock City.

Updates here on the blog might become sporadic in the coming days once the festival officially starts on Sunday night at 12 AM and once Center Camp's limited wifi service becomes overloaded with users. Cheers...

Labels: art, burning man, sojurns