script called for seven marauders to embark on a classic bandito excursion to san diego in a stylin' winnebago ostensibly to catch the Princeton Tigers take on the USD Toreros in football.
oh my, this one had trouble written all over it right from the word "yes."
the week prior, we ran a series of computer simulations of the journey, and 100% of the time the trip resulted in total mayhem.
and these stats were nothing short of precisely accurate.
we picked up the bago in LA and had our first accident before we got out of the city limits.
fire hydrant: 1... sir Arch a Lot's driving skills: 0
but no worries, we placed agent kevlar at the helm (he of the flying kev-les), doubled down, and charged onward.
with the best of intentions, we decided that rather than smoke in the bago we would pull over every hour to fire up.
good call kroll. but alas, a great idea. poor execution.
first rest stop we hit, captain HiRew was drawn like a magnet to a fresh pile of rotweiler, and he tracked it through the carpeted cabin with amazing thoroughness.
dude, that reeks.
fortunately, we had some palmolive on board to... do nothing more than set the stench in for good.
triple down, and things started getting good.
and, really, the rest of the drive down was a blur.
we set up shop upon arrival in a trailer park known fondly as Campland.
ah yes, we quickly established ourselves as the neighbors to loathe.
they got a committee to get us off the block 'casue we sing our rhymes loud, and we sing them non-stop.
we made our way to a local bar called Long Boards and caused a stir.
well, this led to that, and by the time we got back to our bago, the once trusted kevlar had lost our keys.
no problem. that's what 24 hour locksmiths are for, right?
some of us did not care. others slept in front of the bago like hood ornaments.
light followed the darkness and a new day was born. game day, in fact.
but first, a maintenance crew was needed for some non-descript repairs.
and yes, yes, there was a game. and the tigers won.
our gang collectively caught about 8 plays. but the eight we saw were key. i think.
sketchy behavior ruled the rest of the day. we linked with Suzzie and Tammy and found ourselves somewhere in the thick of La Jolla.
we made friends easily.
and a few enemies. easily.
but mostly friends.
you see, this is what we do. and we've got it down pretty good.
sunday came too fast, but that's what happens. we gathered ourselves and piloted the ship back to LAX.
collateral damage: some.
mental capacity: compromised.
RV deposit: gone.
bago to san diego with your crew: epic!!!
like every one of of velvet's gigs over the last few years. this soiree had all of the ingredients of an old school house party: costume theme (worldly), mas decorations, open bar, pre-mixed tunes, open invite, spicey crowd with an anything-goes-attitude, late night shenanigans, etc.
not enough of these parties to go around anymore. the club scene never lends itself to this much intimacy, and the bar scene always seems to lack cohesion.
there's just something about piling into someone's kitchen and letting loose that makes for an electric evening.
alas, bon voyage to our boy velvet. sorry to see him go. it's been a great run! always a bummer to lose one of the crew, but always nice to know that you've got a quality agent out there living the good life and spreading the bojon way.
peace out, my brother...
it's refreshing to see a band that has already achieved megastardom continue to play with passion and enthusiasm as if they were just breaking onto the scene. i've seen too many big name bands play large venue shows just going through the motions. dave, boyd and company showed no signs of this. instead, they looked like they were having a good ole time.
was killer to see a show in the park as well. the sound system was outstanding, and the weather gods dialed up a perfect afternoon. couldn't help but contrast this with the last big show i saw in the park: pearl jam about ten years ago when eddie vetter got sick and neil young tried to cover for him but kept force feeding Rockin' in the Free World. not that i caught a lot of that show, having passed out early on wearing an apron and wielding a spatula.
much better this go round, especially with santana coming out to jam with dave and close out the show with some apropos jimmie hendrix. our crew was thoroughly entertained...
the fishes weren't exactly jumping into our boat, but we were all pretty content to chill and let the day unroll at a casual pace. this attitude helped, and the salmon started to bite. all told we pulled in 10 nice sized kings. made for an excellent BBQ that night and will set us up with smoked salmon for the next year. very nice.
catch of the day went to brigadier biggs, who stayed out all night before the trip and then managed to land a 30 pound prehistoric beast. who says you cant go 30 miles on e. nice work, biggsie!!!
whoa, daddio, how do you even begin to describe that which defies description?
well, the answer is, you cant. there aint no describing it; ya just gotta experience it. wrap yourself in it and let it flow. slow and low. that is the tempo.
but for kicks, a little commentary for the archives...
year three on the playa for the Bojon crew. not exactly 10 year veterans, but not fresh off the boat either. smart enough not to pack tons of clothes we wont wear... but still jamoke enough to shop at costco beforehand and bring jars of pickles that we dont touch.
and it's funny how each year begs comparision with years past. anybody who's been to the burn before is automatically an expert on what it used to be like.
in fact, i've met people who have never been to burning man who won't go because it's not what it used to be.
the chronicle ran an article last monday saying that despite its increasing popularity (35,000 people this year) burning man is facing an identity crisis.
is it a social experiment in community, a techno charged rave, a cutting-edge art festival, or a counter-culture anarchic utopia?
however you want to classify it, burning man is chalked full of hyper kinetic energy combined with more than a pinch of diabolical ingenuity.
if there's a better event out there. let's go!
oh yes, we met Yarl. sort of like carl. but with a "jai."
and what do i say about the ambassodor? you know, the obvious one. horticulturist extraordinare. he of the heroic doses. wow, the mescaline has had a tremendous effect... on his friends (none of whom are quite the same as they used to be).
ah ha, one must be ever cognizant of the mutant locust. that sneaky machine almost took out uncle velvet.
and don't look now, but here comes the judge (thanks for the beats, lucas).
this year's crop of rookies in our camp was en fuego.
and three cheers for the trio of lap dancing vixens who charged our living room and put on a show. mid-day. mid-conversation.
so, during his first night on the playa, the director of entropy declares skeptically that "no one thinks in the desert."
but on his second night, the director, clad in an organge jump suit, cricket legguards, and wielding a cricket bat, declares that he has "turned the corner."
thought IS possible in the desert. in fact, his thoughts have just turned to reggie the milkman who used to visit the family and entertain the household during the early years.
and that calls for a haiku. and a mosquito net. and, of course, the smith corona laptop.
and yes, the new guard was present and accounted for. let it be said: AgentUnder_30 gets it done. the future of the kingdom is in good hands.
ART INSTALLATIONS... not the dominant force they have been in years past. nothing really matched last year's Temple of Gravity or the chandelier from heaven. but i will give BIG props to our very own agent headley who came up with the most recognizable piece this side of the Man and the Temple.
THEME CAMPS... oye, the closer you look, the more you appreciate the effort that goes into this festival. all sorts of well-planned wackiness going on at various levels. cant go wrong with themes like the Hokey Pokey Planet, Pandora's Matchbox, Hokahdome, and Ubercarney (small hands). the Deep End was solid again this year, and the Barbie Death Camp and Wine Bistro was just outright bizarre.
BIKING THE PLAYA... kicks ass. nothing like ripping across black rock city on your favorite cruiser taking in the scene. part of the beauty of this activity is that the playa is downhill in every direction. look mom, no hands, and optional peddaling.
ART VEHICLES... mutant machines rule the day. think mad max, star wars, and chitty chitty bang bang. lots of cool vehicles and not nearly enough opportunity to check them all out. some of the best nights are had on board these crafts. perhaps doug B FRESH will have the double decker ready for next year.
THE TEMPLE... one little pilgrim declared that "the temple is the new Man." i'm not sure this is true, but the temple has no doubt established itself as every bit as sacred as the Man. designed each year by master architect david best, the temple honors lost loved ones and souls departed. the true meaning of the temple struck close to home this year, as our camp payed tribute to one of our best friends who passed away this year. tears were shed, but laughter was present as well. the temple draws forth a cathartic experience that involves both a grieving for loss and a celebration of life.
THE MAN... and hot damn, Peter Pan, the Man took on a slow burn this year. some fireworks at the outset, but then a slow but steady crackle until the flames overtook him. i find it sad to see the man go down each year. but it's part of the cycle of life, and it is a fitting way to bring closure to the festivities.
anyway, enough said. my conclusion for last year still holds: either you've been there and you know what i'm talking about, or you haven't, and you really need to go check it out in person.
our campmate relayed a story that sums up the burn pretty well. during the first night back with his family after the burn, his young son looked at him across the dinner table and proclaimed: "Dada, Burnin' Man is good for your head."