Tag Archives: Burning Man

I’m (Almost) Back!

Hello, out there in the blogosphere! Yes, it’s been months. I’ve been out in the Nevada desert working for Burning Man. It was an awesome year, which was totally unexpected. I’ll elaborate once I’m back at my laptop in NYC. At the moment I’m still in California, in a state of semi-limbo, but I’ll be back at this soon.

Some topics I’ve been mulling over that you can look forward to:

• The AWESOME time I had out in the desert! Of course!
• Other Exes
• Something about how the season went with, well, if you were reading pre-July, you know…
• Yes, MORE online dating! High hilarity continues!
• “Is 52 Too Old For…?” Musings about being 52 and wondering if I’m too old for…stuff. It will be an ongoing conversation (with myself).
• Money (between my sister and how much she spends and all the current news and Facebook postings about Occupy Wall Street, it’s been on my mind even more than usual)
• Enlightenment…Spirituality…Motivation…Procrastination

So stay tuned. I get back to NYC on the 24th and will be frantically unpacking, cleaning, seeing friends and prepping for GHOSTLIGHT, the Halloween event I’m co-producing with Chi Chi Valenti. So I’ll see you in November! I can’t wait!

Advertisements

DPW Talent Show Songs

On the last Saturday night of Playa Restoration, we have the DPW Talent Show. My first year working some of the talent included a guy who could suck his own cock and a bunch of guys shot-gunning beers and puking into a trash can. Each year the show has become a bit more sophisticated; we’ve even had an opera singer! But the most fun “talent” is rewriting songs with topical lyrics. Austintatious wrote her “MOOPiest Things” in 2006 and did a reprise of it this year; I performed my third DPW ditty. Below are the lyrics for all three of my silly songs, for the sake of posterity:

2011
DPW
(Sung to the tune of YMCA)
Douchebag, you don’t need to leave town
I said, hippy, pick your MOOP off the ground
I said, dickwad, you’re on Resto crew now
There’s no need for you to melt down!

Homeless, here’s a place you can stay
I said, broke-ass, 50 dollars a day
You can stay here, in the Gerlach Estates
You’ll ex-per-i-ence al-tered states!

It’s great to be on the DPW
It’s fun to play with the DPW
Every day at morale, we all start to get drunk
You can hang out with all the punks
DPW, it’s great to be on the DPW
You can get yourself high
You can learn to throw clods
You can drink Vodka of the Gods!

Dumbass, are you listening to me?
I said, loser, where do you want to be?
I said, fucktard, it’s the job of your dreams
But you’ve got to learn this one thing
No one parties all on his own
I said, share your nitrous, acid and blow
It’s a haven from Reality Camp
You can wear Bur-ning Man’s garbage!

It’s fun to be on the DPW
It’s great to be with the DPW
You can get yourself laid
You can punch Andy’s balls
You can snort drugs off your friend’s cock!

DPW, it’s great to be with the DPW
You can get yourself fluffed
You can get yourself fed
You can sleep in a lumpy bed!

Jerkoff, I was once in your boots
I said, fuck-up, I was rollin’ in loot
But my job was just a terrible bore
I wanted to en-joy my  life more!
That’s when DA came up to me
And said, Stabby, take a walk up the street
There are trailers and some portapotties
And an awe-some all night par-ty!

It’s fun to be with the DPW
It’s great to be on the DPWW
We’ve got Mutiny Day
With a stuffed horse to kill
You can fry your brains for a thrill!
DPW, it’s fun to be with the DPW…

2010
MELTDOWN MONDAY
(sung to the tune of Manic Monday)
Six o’clock already
Trailer 8’s still up in the dark
Gotta get to the meeting
Catch the bus when it leaves the trailer park
Another day of line sweeps
Lookin’ forward to our 3 o’clock beer
These are the days when you wonder How the hell did I get here?

It’s just another meltdown Monday (oh-oo-oh)
After day off Sunday (oh-oo-oh)
Too much booze in one day (oh-oo-oh)
Hey don’t give Eve a gun day (oh-oo-oh)
It’s just another meltdown Monday

The dirt clods are flyin’
Someone got hit in the eye
The meltdown bugs are swarmin’
And StAbby is startin’ to cry
We’re hallucinating hot spots!
Asshole turf and broken glass
Everyone’s half naked, I can see way too much of your ass

It’s just another meltdown Monday (oh-oo-oh)
The very last one day (oh-oo-oh)
Restoration’s done day (oh-oo-oh)
Hey this has been fun day (oh-oo-oh)
Just another meltdown Monday (oh-oo-oh)

2009
FEELIN’ STABBY
(sung to the tune of Feelin’ Groovy)
Fuck off, you MOOP too slow
Cut off the dreds and let your hair grow
Just pickin’ my nose and dodgin’ rocks
Lookin’ for trash ‘n’ feelin’ stabby
Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da…feelin’ stabby

Hello douchebag
Whatcha smokin’
Ya think that’s workin’
Ha, you’re jokin’
Ain’t ya got no place to be
Do-it-in-do-doo you make me stabby

Checked out on my life
Became an ex-wife
I’m fucked up and filthy and ready to slice
Any chick that my boyfriend is being nice to
Bitch I’ll cut you
All is stabby

Hate your piercings
Hate your get up
Why don’t you do a fuckin’ sit-up?
Your belly sticks out further than your chest
It isn’t your best
It makes me stabby
Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da…feelin’ stabby

Hey there hippy
Hide your SawzAll
Don’t fuck with me I’m menopausal
Ain’t ya got no meds for me
Keep me on E or else I’m stabby
Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da…feelin’ stabby

[This is where my “playa name” of “StAbby” originated. Guess who the “do a sit-up” line was about? Yup, the chick my ex was fucking during clean-up this year. He used to make fun of her too. Hah. Whatever.]

Beer, Lightning and an Eagle Feather

It’s a Saturday morning and I’m sitting in my box, the fan making my eyeballs crunchy. Perhaps surprisingly, I’m not hungover. Nah, I went to bed early last night. We were headed for the hot springs when it started to rain. So we stayed in the trailer park and watched the lightning like it was a drive-in movie.

I’m trying to drink every other night. Uh, read that as trying to get drunk every other night. There’s no way to avoid drinking out here — at least for me. It begins with an after work beer, then there’s a beer or two at Joe’s…or Bev’s…just to “shake off the day,” as After 5 puts it. Dinner looked so unappealing the two of us walked in, eyeballed the wheat bread and lunch meat splattered with some unidentifiable substances, and walked right back out. To the bar. Well, to Joe’s. Where a polite young local complimented my feather tattoo. “Are you gonna be here for another 10 minutes?” he asked me, “I’ve got something for ya.” Ten minutes later he returned with an eagle feather. I guess I’m outing myself; I hear there’s a $20,000 fine for having one if you’re not Native American. Miss Fives was irked about it: the gift, where it was given, how it was gifted. I’m not looking any gifthorses in the mouth and will accept any good juju that magically comes my way. I’ll have to ask her if she can cleanse it and cast a new spell…or make whatever magic she believes should happen, because, as Jess said, “That feather found its way to you.”

Rambling on….it’s been over a week out here in the desert. There have already been times of high hilarity, utter bliss, total irritation, abject fear, panic attacks, boredom (yes, boredom!), relaxation and the pleasure of the “job site” I manage whirring into life like a well-oiled machine. I’ve got a great crew, they’re all hard-working and happy, and Black Rock City’s signs are well under production.

I promised I’d try to blog while out here and it isn’t easy. I’m either enjoying myself and my co-workers or I’m so bleary-eyed I can’t contemplate staring into a computer. Today I woke up early enough to get in some writing before breakfast. If you’re interested in keeping up with the photos of my antics out here, I have a Facebook DPW 2011 album. I’ll do my best to blather here but uploading pix is a lot easier!

Scrambling

After a week spent with family on North Carolina’s Outer Banks, I got back into town on Saturday earlier than I’d anticipated. I still had a house guest so I went straight to my sister’s fancy ass apartment. I was able to come back to my place yesterday. I’m now in the throes of packing and organizing and compartmentalizing in my mind, so sitting down to write anything coherent is close to impossible. Not only am I about to disappear into the high desert for three months, I’m opening my home to two different couples — foreigners, in both cases — while I’m away. I need to clean and tidy up, put away personal effects, make room in my closets and drawers, send off house keys…and generally freak out.

Add into that mix two doctor appointments and financial meltdowns, as I play my usual shell game with cash, checks, bills and what I owe to who. Oh, and yesterday was the closing for my sister buying my ex-husband’s half of my apartment. It’s no surprise that I wake up in the middle of the night unsure of where I am. And that won’t be changing any time soon.

In about 10 days I’ll be living in a box on a ranch in the middle of fucking nowhere. From there my box will be wheeled into “town,” the tiny town of Gerlach, population hovering around 200 until the Burning Man staff starts showing up. In Gerlach, my box will be Tetris’ed into a glamorous trailer park, where I’ll be sharing a bathroom with 20 or so other dirty hippies out in the desert to help build Black Rock City. Once we’ve built the perimeter fence, transpo starts moving shipping containers — and everything else necessary for the city’s infrastructure — onto the playa, the dry prehistoric lake bed. My box will be moved out there as well. I’ll be “placed” in a “camp,” where my box and I will remain until after the event, when transpo begins reversing the process and my box gets shuttled back to town.

Once everything has been removed, the Playa Restoration crew begins “line sweeps,” two weeks of picking up every bobby pin, button, cigarette butt, beer tab and zip tie left lying on the desert floor. Even though I enjoy making signs, it’s my favorite part of the process, a very Zen way to spend the waning days of summer.

Over the next three months, I’m sure I’ll experience stress and sleeplessness, as well as drama and delight, ideally more of the latter. I’ll do my best to check in, but the internet connection in my box is dodgey, at best. In town, it is slightly more reliable, but only slightly. And when we’re out in the middle of the playa, I’m betting it’s gonna be crap. Of course, we have a crack tech team doing their best to hook us all up, so we’ll see!

Whenever my ability to connect may be occasionally compromised, I can certainly continue writing and then back-blog when I’m online. It does get a bit difficult for me to stare at a computer screen when I’ve spent all day in the glaring sun, so I may just wind up jotting down notes. Who knows.

I’ve already made my appointment with my tattoo artist for whatever “Rite of Passage” ink I feel inspired to receive upon my return, which will be sometime in October. Every year I learn a valuable lesson and translate that to imagery. The appointment is for November 11, for maximal good juju (11/11/11).

Between now and then, I hope to continue my introspection, in whatever form it may take. Stay tuned!

Poetry & Bile

So apparently The Poet isn’t the only one who’s felt inspired by me. I recently received this poem by “South Dakota” in my OkCupid box and when I didn’t respond in a timely fashion, he emailed it to me, along with the preceding note to his friend Steve, who he believes might be a good match for me.

It has a certain tang of bitterness and I’m not quite sure why. It’s obvious that he’s read my blog and  I will assume that he doesn’t approve…of me or my lifestyle. He’s careful not to out-and-out judge but the judgement is there nevertheless. In our private correspondence he’s asked about Burning Man and seems skeptical that people aren’t all there for “the ritual,” as though it’s some Wiccan sex-fest. Which I suppose it is, for a specific slice of the burning demographic. Anyway:

Hi Steve:
What do you think about this poem that I wrote for that girl that I emailed you about sometime back to your OkCupid mailbox.  Yeah, the one that matches me zero percent and that is a 71 percent enemy just like you according to their rating system robot, the one Mary and I were joking about setting you up with, if she ever did get around to telling you, since Abby is looking for a guy to come join her in her West Village NY apartment.  I sent it to her but she hasn’t commented yet, she’ll probably like it, but she may want to slap me! lol
Tim

A Sweet Saturday Poem For Abby, by TK
Written June eighteenth, Twenty-Eleven

Life is an exhausting afterparty:
Butter and mayonnaise with crusts cut off,
You want a little?  I will give you some
Frosting of my already tasty cake.

Knock, a steady stream of gentlemen knock,
Go away boy-toy, I’m no longer young,
Sheesh, ya wippersnapper, go somewhere else;
I am more than a Mommy fantasy.

Please forgive my extreme navel gazing;
Where now are all the lovers on my list?
I’ve been mulling this over and over,
Friends are just lovers without all the sex.

Salivating seniors with wrinkled paws,
Bwahahaha, I’m available, not!
Older or fatter or starting to bald?
Not wanting to settle, up turns my nose.

Drinking and tanning were part of my life,
Rollar skating is my lovely fetish,
Star Spangle Banner chokes me up inside,
I don’t feel so terribly fetching lately.

Kiss me oh tall hairy toothy giant,
Love me sublime one, oh perfect someone,
Be faithful to me, I’m your sex goddess,
Celebrate with me now and feel my pain.

I love Burning Man loves your inner slut,
I volunteer, my eye is on the crew,
I worked my ass for free, but not for pay,
Forget your troubles, just party with me.

Hot dogs and burgers and bright-eyed newbies,
I’m in a great mood, not a smidge of snark,
Look at my corset and high-heeled boots,
The place is packed and people jam the mic.

Familiar faces wore my pajamas,
Release me from this sick hypnotic spell,
Thankyouverymuch it’s time to go home,
Pray for me cuz I’m trying to find love.

I’m not your wife and I’m not your girlfriend,
Would rather die on an island alone,
Than bend the knee and merge my heart with thine,
I’m told I’m hot and sexy all the time.

We play spin-the-bottle and truth or dare,
Passion and reason and games of the heart,
I pray for someone who will love me back,
Life is what’s left when we get done crying.

Out there somewhere is the man of my dreams,
Forever to love and never to part,
I yearn to know when at long last we’ll we meet,
Teach me sweet muse how to look at the heart.

And my response:

Morning, Tim!
I hadn’t responded because I was out enjoying the summer sunshine, the Mermaid Parade and, well, you know….being hot and sexy!
I’m not sure I’d call it a “sweet” poem. It has a healthy measure of bile in it. I wonder why you sound so bitter.
And who is this Steven person? Do you think we’d be a 70% + match? Wink.
Anyway, I see that you’ve taken some time with this, so I appreciate the effort. Hope you’re cool with me posting it to my blog! Heh.


Super Fun Saturday!

Following the emotional roller coaster of Friday, I was ready for some fun! And, thankfully, Saturday delivered!

The day started early with The Burner Lab Meet & Greet. I’d booked The Delancey’s lush roof deck from noon til 5pm, complete with BBQ grill. Corona was on special and I held off as long as I could, until 1:15. From there it was beer after beer, a parade of bright-eyed newbies and enough grizzled veterans to answer all their eager questions. Kat and Jesse Green were running a crafty corner, letting people decorate leaves for NYC’s CORE tree. Oman, Cinemagirl and Nickname were manning — and womaning — the grill, serving up hot dogs and burgers. I was in such a great mood I was actually nice. To everyone. ALL DAY! I know! Not a smidge of snark! I was like the proverbial burner welcome wagon!

The event really picked up when the Rangers arrived, fresh from their Ranger Training. It was gonna be tough to leave! But I eventually did, with one hell of a buzz, bound for home and a quick change from my DPW Playa Restoration t-shirt (represent!) to a corset and suede high-heeled boots. I brought a PBR in the cab with me en route to Paddles and the memorial for The Hellfire’s eminence gris, Lenny Waller. The place was packed as friend after friend took the mic to reminisce about the man who was the glue that held New York City’s fetish community together for over two decades. He truly was a great humanitarian.

I ran into a lot of familiar faces, many of whom mentioned “the old guard” when they greeted me. Who’d’ve thought that I’d be considered a member of the old guard in a community that I found so late? It was great to see those old friends, people I used to see on almost a weekly basis and hadn’t seen in years. When Porno Jim wrapped up the homages, it was time for me to jump into another cab, headed back downtown.

When I got to my apartment, Douggie, Natasha and Dirtbag were already on my stoop, bags of beer in hand. Soon my apartment was full of folks prepping for the Animus Slumber Party. I stepped out of my high-heeled boots and into a pair of penguin feety pajamas. Numerous PBRs were consumed. Hilarity ensued. And then we tried to get into cabs. Hahahah!

Upon arrival at Santos Party House, we were dismayed to find a giant line. “I can’t stand outside in the rain,” I wailed, “I’m in feety pajamas!” And I was gonna work those feety pajamas! We pled our case with Squire, the party’s co-producer and weasled our way in. The joint was jumpin’ with pajama-clad revelers, some actually playing Spin-the-Bottle on the floor! The DJ on the decks when we showed up wasn’t my favorite but the guy who followed him had me. I was a feety flannel frenzy!

At about 3:30 I hit my wall, realizing that I’d been drinking for 14 straight hours. Not a bad showing, thankyouverymuch, but definitely time to go home. I bleerily hailed a cab and was soon happy to be in bed, sandwiched between my two foster dogs. Before getting into bed, however, I inexplicably found myself on my knees, praying. Yes, praying. I prayed for the strength to get through the summer and seeing my ex every day…for his happiness and my release from whatever sick, hypnotic spell I’ve been under for the past five years… (Because even today I’m still struggling with the stories, both Friday’s and one contained in a heartfelt email from yet another woman who was mesmerized by this man. What is it about narcissists?) Anyway, I called upon the universe — or anyone else who might’ve been listening — to give me a hand, show me the way and, eventually, help me to find love again. With someone who is capable of loving me back. Pray for me, too, won’t you?

Stevie, Outer Space & Cinco, Blackout Cinco

Ah, the past few days have been dark ones, indeed. Coming down off my Married Man Marathon high and second date excitement, it’s back to the usual drought conditions. I’m doing my best to buck up and not be discouraged but it isn’t easy.

Last night was a riot of be-ribboned tambourines and lacy shawls at Night of a Thousand Stevies. I worked the door with the effervescent Cynthia and got to see everyone’s costumes in the light. All gorgeous! The show was the best yet, the 21st annual, and the evening wrapped up with “the battle,” when everyone in full “Stevie realness” is invited onto the stage for a twirl-off. I was busily wrangling the well-dressed for Finlay Mackay, an adorable photographer shooting for The New York Times Magazine. He and his crew were a pleasure to work with and I was impressed with how skillfully they juggled their equipment amidst the dangling satin banners and dozens of spinning Stevies.

When my work there was done, a few friends and I jumped into a cab and headed for Mars 2112, where Kostume Kult and Disorient were holding their annual Burning Man theme camp fundraiser, The Black & Light Ball. I’ve fantasized about throwing a party in this Disney-esque “outer space” since my first trip there years ago with my sister and her kids. To witness hundreds of blinking, glowing revelers enjoying the intergalactic ambience was amazing. I didn’t last long but at least I got to see it!

My Cinco de Mayo turned out to be a complete disaster. I’ve spent the last as-many-as-I-can-remember with Corinne, one of my wildest friends. But the wild girl has been tamed and, rather than sucking down frozen drinks in her giant velvet, spangled sombrero with me, she was watching herself and her husband on cable as they won The Newlywed Game. A trip to Cancun! Sigh. I wound up drinking with a new friend who’s working on the Figment signage with me. We’d had a successful trip to Materials for the Arts, which was fucking incredible. Shopping without having to pay? Yay! Anyway, let’s just say that two quarts of margaritas and bumping into your ex-husband is not a great combination! In a less-than-felice blackout moment, un-remembered words were exchanged and my evening ended with me boo-hoo-hooing and bumbling home to pass out. Olé! Oy vey…