Q + A with Pie

Q: Pie!  You haven't posted in like 10 whole days.  We need our fix!

A: That actually wasn't a question.

Q: Seriously, what up?

A: I've been busy, that's all.  I still love you guys.

Q: It's another blog isn't it?  You found someone else!  I bet she's one of those sluts that doesn't use the default blogger format!

A: No!  How could you even think that?


Q: I bet she gave you ads.  You should get checked.

A: Baby, I love your format.  No ads.  I'm clean.

Q: So where you been, slugger?

A: First off: slugger?  Let's not make that a thing.

I have been crazy busy these last few weeks.

I am literally working three jobs at the moment.  And supporting a pretty vicious cocaine habit.  Okay, only one of those is true.

Anyway, that means productive-member-of-society-pie doesn't have as much time to devote to this blog as say, unemployed-student-pie.  I feel this pie metaphor is slipping away from me.

Also, as some of you know I held a fundraiser for Amnesty International.  We raised over $400!  And the best part: there was literally pie involved.  And heckling.

Yes, somebody heckled me at a charity event.  Amazingly, this is not the first time this has happened. 

As you can imagine, this has all kept me pretty busy.

Q: Yeah well we know for a fact you went to New York last weekend. 

A: Dammit, this is why blogs should be anonymous!

Q: Stories?

A: Stories.  Promise.

Regular mail, this is why no one likes you.

So today I went to check the mailbox and discovered, instead of the usual array of bills, fliers, late notices, cease and desist orders, overdue notices, we-will-shut-off-your-fucking-water notices, and Sunny D samples (what?  I'm tired of drinking "purple stuff")... I found a note from the postal service saying that my "mail" will no longer be delivered due to the icy condition of my walkway. 

First off, dude.  I walk that like five times a day, most of them drunk.  SIX if I don't fall asleep in the neighbour's yard (we call that a Wednesday).  MAN UP.

Now everything I learned about the postal service comes from the movie The Postman, so I've got a pretty good idea how this is supposed to work.  As I understand it, the only things that are going to survive the apocalypse are cockroaches, Kevin Costner, and the godam mail system!

 On the plus side, they can't turn my water off now.  Jokes on you, government.

I still live!

Let's just skip the part where I apologize for not posting and go straight to the part where you forgive me.

Good?  Good.

So why have I been away so much?  Reader, I thought we were past this... but fine, if you must know, I started a new job!

I am now working for the Association for Progressive Communications, and it is AWESOME!  I'm working on their new project Internet Rights are Human Rights.  Oh yes Reader, I get paid to write.

Helloooo validation!  This is like when your girlfriend tells you you're a "perfect fit".  Wait, no it's not.  IT'S NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL!


Soooo basically my job is to promote and protect freedom of expression online, so people like you can read the   clever insights  astute observations   insane ramblings of people like me.

It would be even better if they paid me.

As my long-time readers may recall, I have worked for NGOs before.  Basically NGO stands for Never Get Overtime.  You do lots of work and get paid mostly in pride.

Still, I love what I do.  I wouldn't trade it for the world.  Maybe Boba Fett's armour.

Well well well. Look who comes CRAWLING back...

Well, I am finally back from Costa Rica.  Rest assured, tales will be told!

I missed you Reader.  I thought about you.  Dirty thoughts.

As I landed in Toronto, I pulled out my phone to make contact with my friend who was picking me up, only to realize that it had crashed.  This, it turns out, would make finding each other in Toronto's unfathomably large airport particularly challenging.

After exhausting my significant technical expertise (ie. turning it off and on again while promising to buy it a seriously overpriced carrying case) I took my phone in to Bell to see if they could revive it.

When I described the problem the sales rep was not the least bit surprised.  Or sympathetic.  "Oh yeah, we get a ton of these.  Samsung put out an update that crashed all the Galaxy S's."

Wait, what?!  Let's rewind.

"Sir, my eyes are up here."
"Yeah but your breasts are down THERE."

No, after that.

"Samsung put out an update that crashed all the Galaxy S's."

The hell Samsung?

Somebody had seriously better been fired over this.  For reals.  You crashed ALL OF THE PHONES.

That's like if Pizza Pizza accidentally started delivering rabid, sword-wielding monkeys instead of pizzas.  Also, dibs.

So I now have to send my phone away for 4-6 weeks to get it repaired.  And I have to pay $25 for the privilege of using a loaner phone.

Bell, this isn't over.

The Southwest - Part 20

So a few minutes ago I lined up to get my usual triple-crack macchiato - I DON'T HAVE A PROBLEM I CAN STOP ANY TIME I WANT TO - and guess who lines up behind me?

The fuggin' BLIND GUY.  Oh my gawd he can smell me.

As I waited for my order to finish, I was frantically trying to decide which fist to throw first: Lefty, or the Widowmaker?  You know, to hit the blind man with.  I told you your honor it was self defense! 

Thankfully, he ordered a brewed coffee (how plebeian) then walked right past me toward the bathroom. 

Crisis averted.



Annnnd we're back.


August 30th until ??? - "Welcome Home."

Driving well into the night, we arrived at the middle of nowhere.  Pulling up to the front gate, we were approached by a girl dressed as some kind of bunny-dinosaur.  I didn't ask.

She only had one question: "This your first time?"  What did the Prius give us away?

As we quickly learned, all "virgins" to Burning Man must go through the same ritual: we were ordered out of our car, and told to lay down on the playa.  Then, make dust angels.

With this essential task completed, we were each handed a length of steel rebar and told to hit a giant bell as hard as we can, yelling "I AM NOT A VIRGIN ANYMORE!!!"

Pleased with our offering, she hugged us with a genuineness that is all too rare in this world and said "Welcome Home."

----------

As it would turn out, the dust bath was very liberating, but hardly necessary.  Five minutes on the playa and you are caked with layers of sediment - like a spray on tan.  Made of desert.

I'm gonna be honest with you guys, this is actually where my travel notes end.  Evidently I was  way too intoxicated  having too much fun to be scribbling down observations.

Also, there's nowhere to keep your pen, when you're naked. 

So here's the deal, I'm just gonna wing it, piecing together what I remember between the blackouts and the stuff there is no way in hell I'm telling you about.

We followed the sound of techno music into the city.  And it is a city.  By this time there were already over 40,000 people in Black Rock, with hundreds more arriving at all hours of the day. 

The official 2010 census from Black Rock City counted 51,454 citizens, 293 Bureau of Land Management citations, and 8 arrests.  A good year.

Black Rock City is laid out in a semi-circle "C" shape, with The Man in the very centre.  Around him is an open space, known as the Promenade, and behind him a vast expanse of nothingness.  They call this the Playa.

Also, there's an airport.  Just because.

The airport offers free plane rides, sky diving, and membership in the mile high club.

Let me see your pilot's license again...

The city itself is made up of circular avenues, bisected by streets named after the numbers of the clock.  Every clock numbered street leads straight to The Man, making a system that even a drunk (or 50,000 of them) can navigate with ease.

The Man, in all his glory

-----------

We set up camp around 8:30 and Kyoto, which at the time was the edge of the city.  By the next day, we were practically the downtown.

No strangers to setting up camp in the dark, we decided to half-ass it and hit up the party while it was still kicking.  As it turns out, the party literally never stops.  When I awoke the next morning, only half inside my tent, which was only half assembled anyway, the music was still playing.  Loudly.

What struck me about my first night in Black Rock was just how bright this city gets.  Everywhere are strobe lights, spot lights, disco balls, and multi-colored lasers.  Everyone is wearing LEDs.  And sometimes only LEDs. 

Black Rock at night is like watching Tron on E.  Actually, for many Burners, that's probably the case.

I have SO many pictures, some of which are actually SFW.  Here's a taste of Burning Man by night:

Today's show is brought to you by the letter E

Don't lie.  You're a little turned on right now.

I don't even know, you guys.  I don't even know.

This thing is actually interactive.  It plays music, changes colors and spits fire (of course it does), all of which is controlled by three stations spread out around it and free for anyone to use.  What could possibly go wrong?


In case you didn't know, the theme at Burning Man is always FIRE.  

This is where the party at.

 This is the second story of the Heart Machine.  A mobile club (you read that correctly), that roams around the playa and sets up in a different place every night.

These guys are from Toronto and are waaay more normal than they have any right to be.

One group, Nexus, deserves particular mention:

This is what happens when pyros get engineering degrees

If you only knew the power of the dark side...

 For those of you wondering, yes, that is a Tesla coil.  And they're playing with it.

--------------------

 By day the experience is a little different.  For starters, it is hot as hell.  There are those who say yes but it's a "dry heat".  I hate those people.

While many of the hardcore party-goers spend the day hibernating, a whole different breed of Burner emerges during the day.

These are the types who attend the hundreds of yoga classes, workshops and other events I'm not sure how to classify, such as "The Human Car Wash".  Exactly what it sounds like.

Of those workshops, about half of them are sex education.  The other half are technique.

Just like we have Remembrance Day and Black History Month in the real world, Black Rock has its own holidays and traditions.  For instance, the million bunny march.

Again, this is exactly what it sounds like:

Yeah.  Why not?

Wabbits!

Other festivities include "Critical Dicks", a parade of penises for which nothing can adequately prepare you.  Also, Wednesday is "Official Shirt-Cocking Day".  You've been warned.

As I mentioned earlier, it is fuggin' hot in Black Rock.  Getting around during the day requires a great deal of effort and a lot of patience.  Luckily, there are home-made bars (some with home-made booze) on every corner.  The "Playa Surprise" is pretty much the only drink on offer.  Never the same, it usually involves some kind of exotic liquor mixed with much-needed gatorade.

You get used to it.

Many of these fine establishments also have their own greeters, encouraging you to come in out of the heat, take a load off, and keep drinking til dark.  The end result being that you are typically smashed before you even reach the port-a-potties. 

The heat, however, only partly explains the public nudity which is endemic throughout the city.  What makes Black Rock City so special is that you can pretty much do anything you want.  The only rules are: no cars on the playa (with some notable exceptions which I will explain later) and no money can be exchanged inside the city's limits.

Black Rock City is a gift economy.  Everyone contributes something to the community, whether it be booze, art, music, booze, food or booze.  It is a remarkable experiment in human nature.  And it works.  It really does.

The other mantra of Burning Man is self-sufficiency.  Everyone is responsible for bringing their own food and water, and this is an integral component.  Self-sufficiency means no dependency.  Everyone is equal.  The Black Rock Rangers, the medics, the firefighters, the guy who drops you out of the airplane, everyone is a volunteer.

Now, I know what you're thinking:  Free booze?!  Where do I sign?

Besides the bars, there are also many fine-dining establishments, some with gourmet menus.  Of course, whatever you order almost invariably comes back as a grilled cheese -- a Black Rock staple.

And the price is always right.

This was my favorite place.  Because it had soft-serve ice cream.  And free refills.

I took this picture before I knew what pedo bear was.  Now it's that much better.

------------------

 Seeing as how it takes several hours to circumnavigate Black Rock, most citizens travel by bicycle.  In fact, if I have one word of advice for potential Burners it's bring a bicycle.  Also, don't order the Playa Surprise.

There are exceptions, as I mentioned above.  These are the Mutant Vehicles.

I've never been so tempted to steal a car

"All units, suspect is driving a red... nevermind."

Believe it or not, those are two of the smaller mutant vehicles.  Others are two stories tall, and look more like massive land yachts than actual cars.  Some of them actually ARE yachts. 

And of course, the vast majority of them spit fire.

-------

The best part of Burning Man is the Burners themselves.  As Black Rock City is a lifeless desert 51 weeks out of the year, the city really is what people make of it.

I made some great friends in my week at Burning Man.  To protect their identities, I can't give their real names, so let's just call them Pippy Longstocking, Colonel Sanders, and Claire.  You know who you are.

I had a ton of fun roaming the Playa with you guys (Colonel Sanders and I got mistaken for a couple on more than a few occasions).  Probably because we were biking around naked.  And because he totally digs me. 

Also, I want those pictures deleted.

One day a bunch of us played Ultimate on the Playa.  Because you just have to.  The organizer, we'll call her Wonder Woman, gets special mention.

Though I ended up coughing up black stuff the rest of the evening, it was totally worth it.

Why you ask?  Well, Black Rock Mesa has no trees, and no moisture.  Thus, the ground everywhere is covered by a thick layer of dust.  Dust which quickly becomes airborne and then finds its way into your tent, eyes, lungs and most sacred places.

Sometimes there is so much dust as to allow near-zero visibility.  This is called a whiteout.  In case of a whiteout, veteran Burners advise that you put your thumb over your beer, slip on your gas mask and man up. 

This was my first whiteout.  Also the last picture of me in pants.

There is one tradition at Burning Man that does not involve sex and intoxicants.  Probably.

This is the Temple.  The Temple is a different structure every year, always unique, which acts as the unofficial soul of Burning Man.  Every year, Burners come to the Temple to reflect on the struggles that have defined them.  Some pay their respects to those they've lost.

Many write notes and slip them into the Temple walls, others sign the Temple itself.  Messages range from "I miss you, Robert" to "I'm still here, rascals!"  (Okay, it didn't say rascals).

Then, you guessed it, they burn the fugger down.  The result is a real cathartic experience.  Something about arson has a finality to it.  A feeling of putting the past behind you.

It is powerful.


---------

Honestly, trying to really explain Burning Man is next to impossible.  It reminds me of that scene in Contact, where Jodi Foster tries to tell NASA what she's seeing: "No... words... should've... sent a poet..." 

Lack of special effects budget aside - seriously, the alien was her father?!  Come on - I am in a similar predicament.  The only way to truly understand Burning Man is to go there, something which I highly recommend.

All this is also to say that I'm skipping to the end.

The burning of The Man is a truly unique experience.  I mean, it's a giant bonfire with 50,000 people, all decked out in LEDs.  The mutant vehicles surround the crowd, competing for who's DJ is  better  louder, and blasting fireballs into the night sky in what is now really starting to resemble a pagan ritual.


There's even a pregame show:

As always, the theme is FIRE

Then come the FIREworks.  Because you can never have enough fire.

I'm sure they've got a permit for those

Then, they light him up.

It Begins

By this point, the crowd is positively delirious, with 50,000 people cheering and dancing amidst stirring renditions of "The Roof, The Roof, The Roof is ON FIRE".

"Let's burn this motherfugger down, Pookie!"

PS. if you get the the Pookie reference, post the movie in the comments and you win a prize!

Then The Man (seen above, defiant to the last) finally falls, and everyone rushes his still burning remains.

After a whole week of partying, the 50,000 Burners draw on their reserves of sheer willpower to go crazy for one last night.

--------

The next morning is surprisingly civil, given an entire city is experiencing a week long bender induced hangover at the same time.  We drove to the airport in Reno, stopping at a Dunn's for our first cooked meal in a week.  You can tell the Burners in the establishment, mostly because they look like they walked out of a post-apocalyptic movie.  Which in some ways, they did.

I caught my flight, where I was again bumped up to first class.  I could get used to this.

This turned out to be especially fortunate, since they offered me hot towel service.  When the flight attendant came back, the towel was black.  Keep em comin!

When I finally arrived home, I had memories to last a lifetime, a powerful but satisfying hangover, and the best godam shower of my LIFE.

The Southwest - Part 19

August 30th - Pilgrims in an unholy land

This is it guys.  The moment you've been waiting for.

Today, we left for Burning Man.

Leaving Las Vegas one is struck by the utter desolation that is the state of Nevada.  Seriously, no one lives here.  Not even Mormons.  Nothing grows, except the burning realization you should have topped up on gas before you left.

This is bat country.

The road to Black Rock Mesa took nine long hours.  Along the way we passed all of five cars, two houses and incontrovertible proof that the Pentagon has too much money  a naval testing base.  In the desert.

For the first time in the entire trip, we found ourselves out of range of NPR.  Hold me I'm scared. 

As always, one could tune into the station that only plays Glenn Beck.  Desperate to listen to anyone's voice but each other's, we did just that.  Now my soul hurts.

Arriving in the first town for like, a bajillion miles, we were wondering how we managed to get lost in a state with only three highways.  Remembering the Cisco incident, I was skeptical.

Thankfully, it was inhabited.  As we drove toward what was surely the last gas station on Earth we wondered how we were going to find a place that doesn't exist 51 weeks out of the year.  Pulling into the station, we found this:

Property of Washington Inner-City School Board

Yep.  We were definitely on course.

Apparently these guys (all 30 of them) had driven in from Michigan.  This was actually their second bus, as the first one had broken down somewhere in Colorado.  Naturally, they had to take a few moments to pimp out their new ride.

They gave us the final step of directions: turn right, then drive 70 miles into nowhere.

Sounds good to me.

The Southwest - Part 18

Totally still August 29th - "You know what we need man?  Some rope."

I'm told that after the Double Down Saloon, we headed over to eat at the Pink Taco.  I'm told this, because I don't really remember.  Apparently the food was delicious.

The next thing I do remember is staring at a wall of assault rifles in the sports store.  We had walked in to buy a low-profile tent, since the wind had nearly stolen ours a few times in Utah. 

So the "camping section" consisted of two tents, a cooking stove, and enough firepower to invade a small country.

Apparently, when Americans go camping, they make ready to defend the Alamo.  Cause that worked out so well the first time.

In front of me was a dizzying array of fully automatic weapons, each boasting about its considerable "stopping power".  You know, in case the deer is wearing body armor. 

Over forty high-powered rifles to choose from.  And two tents.

I couldn't resist inquiring.  The nice lady behind the counter informed me that a customer can walk in, choose something particularly lethal, and - after a cursory security check which amounts to little more than a literacy test -  walk out with their assault rifle the same day.  Ammo is by the register.  Next to the gum.

There was something in her voice I couldn't quite place until afterward, me being intoxicated and all.

It was pride.