Category: Society

  • Let’s defend a Nazi

    I seem to struck a nerve with my intransigence over Game of Thrones.  So I guess I might as well pick on another item of social significance.

    This is my review of Four Peaks Xerocole IPA

    Okay I am kidding.  Seinfeld isn’t a terrible show, but I do agree with the opinion the humor and plotlines of many episodes can be a bit dated from time to time.  There are however, certain episodes that will stand up as well as any.  One such example is Season 7, Episode 6:  The Soup Nazi.

    Seriously, this episode is way better than the episode of M*A*S*H* where the Korean lady suffocates a chicken.

    I will cover the main points for context but if you want to check out the entire script here’s a link, or I am sure you can look around the internet and find the episode somewhere.  It begins where the sociopaths Jerry, Elaine, and George are discussing which movie theater they would like to visit when Jerry suggests one in particular because it is near a place that sells soup. In spite of Elaine’s preference for a burger at that time, Jerry continues to rave about the place but there is one caveat:

    ELAINE: Boy, I’m in the mood for a cheeseburger.

    JERRY: No. We gotta go to the soup place.

    ELAINE: What soup place?

    GEORGE: Oh, there’s a soup stand, Kramer’s been going there.

    JERRY: He’s always raving. I finally got a chance to go there the other day, and I tell you this, you will be stunned.

    ELAINE: Stunned by soup?

    JERRY: You can’t eat this soup standing up, your knees buckle.

    ELAINE: Huh. All right. Come on.

    JERRY: There’s only one caveat — the guy who runs the place is a little temperamental, especially about the ordering procedure. He’s secretly referred to as the Soup Nazi.

    The ordering procedure; here is where I defend the Soup Nazi.  There are a number of places in nearly any city that has a particular procedure one must follow to order.  The pizza joint I frequently patronize doesn’t take names for phone orders, they give you an order number and expect you to give it to them when you pick it up.  Many even developed a jargon to ordering.  Some of these places might be stricter than others when asking to adhere to such places but I will give a few examples, feel free to point out others.

    • In-N-Out Burger.  They only have a few items on their menu, but they actually have a “sort of Secret Menu” on their website, that should you go up to any In-N-Out and ask for an item off this menu, they will be more than happy to make it.  Then there is this.  I am not endorsing In-N-Out.  I personally don’t think it’s that great, and honestly no fast food burger really is.
    • Geno’s (Philadelphia).  There’s a lingo to ordering a cheesesteak.  Should you find yourself there and don’t want to look like moron and subject yourself to Philly’s signature hospitality, they explain how on their website.
    • Starbucks.  There really isn’t anything unusual about ordering here, but I think this is more of a principled stand against something that often manifests itself at a Starbucks.  If there is a line with 20 people in it, know what the hell you are ordering BEFORE you arrive at the counter.  It’s just coffee, there’s nothing abnormal about it, and if what you want is one of their coffee cocktail…things, the menu has a decent enough explanation of what’s in it to know by the time you get to the counter.  It’s a common courtesy that I hope doesn’t have to be mentioned here.

    It is in this spirit the Soup Nazi had his ordering procedure.  For further background, this episode is actually based on a real place, and the Soup Nazi is a real person, who recently filed for bankruptcy.  As you might be able to see from the photo from the featured image, it isn’t a large venue.  The ordering procedure the Soup Nazi requested is primarily meant to keep the line moving.  As Jerry explains:

    JERRY: All right. As you walk in the place move immediately to your right. […] The main thing is to keep the line moving.

    GEORGE: All right. So, you hold out your money, speak your soup in a loud, clear voice, step to the left and receive.

    JERRY: Right. It’s very important not to embellish on your order. No extraneous comments. No questions. No compliments.

    That’s it.  That’s his requirements.  The instances where the Soup Nazi throws the main characters out of the shop is where they interrupt the flow of the line.  George gets his soup taken away over his complaint he didn’t get any bread.  Before it is pointed out this is a legitimate complaint–it is, however he did get his money back and the next time they gave him bread with his order.  Elaine was tossed out because she took forever to order, and tried to make small talk with the Soup Nazi (“Did anyone ever tell you, you look like Al Pacino…WHOOAH”).  Later she went in to thank him for a piece of furniture, which angered him because he didn’t think Kramer was going to give it to somebody so eagerly willing to aggravate him and interrupt the line of customers…again.  Another was kicked out because he tried to be cute and order partially in Spanish; the Soup Nazi might have just been a dick there.

    Supposedly the actual owner of the Soupman was offended by the entire episode, and upon recognizing them, threw out Jerry Seinfeld and the rest of the cast when they visited.  He…also tried in vain to not pay federal taxes, hence filing Chapter 13.

    Does this really sound like somebody we should hate?  I contend he is not.  This is nothing more than an entrepreneur that has a extremely desirable product, but limited capacity for space to deliver his product.  His simple demands to keep the line moving are met with such contempt, Elaine’s only recourse is to publish his secret recopies and ruin his business.

    Now the beer in question is a local beer, and one I plan to sent to my BIF recipient, regardless of his distaste for IPA…. it was released earlier this month and went straight to tall can territory.  It does have a dry, biting IPA flavor we all love to hate, but it is also reasonably light and refreshing.  Before it is pointed out this is a contradiction–it is, however even I have purchased this on more than one occasion so it isn’t too bad.  Four Peaks Xerocole IPA: 3.0/5

  • Reviews You’ll Never Use: Texas Frightmare Weekend 2019 Edition

    Hello Glibs, it’s been awhile, but your old Master of Scaremonies the Cryptkeeper is here to provide my annual superfuntimestory of the bestest holiday on my calendar outside of Halloween – Texas Frightmare Weekend! This article is *at least* five times as long as it needs to be, because I know you’re reading this at work and I’m trying to give you an excuse to not get back to that for an extra 10 minutes. You’re welcome. Do keep reading, though – there’s lots of cursing, lame jokes, celebrity stories, and a 40k reference for my fellow hyper-nerds. Plus I had fun last year with our game of, “There are so many links, I wonder which one of them randomly goes to a weird porn site?” that I decided to play again this year. Happy hunting!

    To begin with, this shit has gotten completely out of hand. They sold out of Saturday single day tickets (est. attendance this year of 35,000), and the fucking hotel rooms sold out at the main venue within two hours of going on sale. We were able to snag a room at the last second because they caught some dude reserving 20 rooms and trying to re-lease them out at a markup. Thankfully the dumbass advertised them on the Facebook meetup page for the event, so the organizer cancelled his block reservation & they opened the rooms back up. My wife received an automatic update and we jumped on one. True story: we got the last one, and it wound up being a handicapped room. It was YUUUGE. Like twice the size of a regular room. What’s a fucking cripple need with all that space? Don’t they need less space? It’s not like they’re prancing about or have friends that they can invite up or anything else requiring room. Even the shower was much larger. Don’t just take my word for it, here’s a photo. It’s so big you don’t even get the edge of the bed in frame.

    Seriously, I could do cartwheels in it if I wasn't old and fat and straight.
    Crip room

    Now most, if not all of you, are probably mentally saying to me, “Gojira, we know that Texas Frightmare Weekend is always held on the first weekend of May. So why come this year, Dallas Fan Expo, the larger (50k+ attendance) pop culture, sci-fi, and comic book convention that used to be called Dallas Comic Con, moved its date to directly compete? Aren’t they targeting the same people?” Well astute reader, indeed that was the plan – of the FanExpo organizer. Here’s a little inside baseball for you, as was related to me by a buddy of mine involved in the whole sordid affair: FanExpo wanted to be the only game in town & approached the Texas Frightmare organizer, Loyd Cryer, about buying him out. He told them to fuck off and die in a fire (paraphrasing mine -ed). In what is possibly an act of pure spite, which is just my conjecture and in no way libelous, FanExpo moved their event to the same weekend. I think their big-shot corporate overlords thought that the nerdy public is one undifferentiated mass, and that being the larger event with more headline guests, they would draw interest and put a little bit of a beat-down on ol’ Texas Frightmare.

    Turns out the Venn Diagram of people who are comic book and pop culture nerds, and people who are hardcore horror fans, does have overlap, but not nearly to the degree that the FanExpo jerks had hoped. I do fear, though, that this blatant act of separatism has resulted in some unfortunate battlelines being drawn and our two populations being given reason to resent and distrust one another. Thanks alot, FanExpo! If I ever see Jonathan Frakes on the street, I’ll fuckin’ kill him and leave a human turd on his forehead and a little note written on a cocktail napkin that says, “Defend Horror” written in his blood and pinned to his body with a little plastic sword along with some photos of those abused dogs from the SPCA commercials.

    Interestingly, the above paragraph wasn’t just one long setup to a largely unfunny joke about murdering Will Riker. There really is a distinct difference between the two groups, and if you swing both ways, as I do [insert “Oh My!” George Takei gif], you notice it when surrounded entirely by one group or the other. By and large the horror crowd, where I spend more time, is more…enthusiastic…about ordering their lifestyle around their interests. They don’t just dye their hair, they have a shit-load of tats and piercings, dress somewhat raggedly, curse a lot more, drink a lot more, and are generally more “blue collar” types. They also skew distinctly more conservative. There are a lot more pro-2A shirts, and shirts making fun of liberals, at horror events, than shirts or patches with leftist slogans. Hell, I saw a couple of Confederate flag patches on vests this weekend, and nobody gave them a second glance. For all you aspies rushing to the comments to correct me that it’s actually the battle flag of Northern Virginia or whatever the hell, save yourselves the spittle-flecked outrage. When I say, “Confederate flag”, you damn well know what I’m talking about, so just simmer down and roll with it. If you promise not to be a ludicrous pendant, I’ll not purposefully replace the word “magazine” with “clip” in any future firearms articles I may write.

    The thing is, I’m not sure why this is. This is a group of people who are obviously comfortable with, shall we say, non-traditional mores in terms of public behavior, modes of dress, etc., and yet they actually skew conservative. The sci-fi/comic crowd is overwhelmingly leftist, but they also are overwhelmingly just fat guys able to take off their blue TOS shirts at the end of the day and blend back into “regular” society. I can’t help but wonder why this is. I’m sure Ken Shultz has a theory that he’d like to expound on (just ribbing you in good nature, Ken). Joe Bob Briggs mentioned it during his panel, as well, so it’s not just me making shit up…this time.

    So not as many photos this year, for which I apologize. If you haven’t read my past entries on this event, be warned: this is literally the only time of the year I take photos, so I cannot be assed to get good at it because I just don’t care. Anyway, even five years ago, when you purchased an autograph from a guest, it came with a selfie. Now every one of these greedy fucks charges an extra $10, except for a few who are cool.

    Plus he looks fabulous for his age. Wood.
    Bruce Abbot is cool. He does not charge extra.

    I will note that they didn’t have glowsticks available at the after party again this year. I think our little art project that I showed you all photos of in the 2017 entry put the kibosh on that for everybody. At least I hope that’s why there weren’t any. I’d love to believe that my one merry band of assholes managed to ruin something for tens of thousands of people. It’d put me right up there with John Dillinger.

    Great guests though, and great panels. We had Jeffrey Combs, who given his wonderful Star Trek roles would have been just as at home at FanExpo, but he’s also done great work in horror. I’m a huge Jeffrey Combs fanboy, so this was a special treat for me. We had Meat Loaf, who fell off the fucking stage at his panel and broke his collarbone. Looks great for his age, though, really. Jenna Jameson, on the other hand, does not. Her ass looked like a fucking tray table. I wanted to set my drink on it, then smack her hard in the face and see if the drink fell off. It doesn’t show up in google image search, oddly enough. Trust me, I wanted to add a picture. Traci Lords has aged a bit better, and Cassandra Peterson (better known as Elvira) I’d still drill like an out of control oil rig. The big guns were Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell, along with Sam’s brother Ted Raimi. Robert Englund, Lance Henrickson, Tom Savini, and various other regular guests were in the house, as well as…Lee Majors! Scott Ian and Charlie Benante of Anthrax were also present, and the corpse of Tim Curry. Along with many other assorted peoples who had roles in some sequels or other.

    Seriously though, I just felt bad for Tim Curry. To get “his” autograph, you had to give his handlers the merch, then they’d mail it back to you later, signed. Yeah, sure pal, I totally believe that’s a legit signature that you can’t do in front of me because reasons. They wheeled him around for his photo ops, and he was just sitting there all stroked out. I’m poking fun, but really, I feel for the guy. If you saw him, you’d swear they were only keeping him alive in a high-tech chair out of fear that when he dies the psychic beacon that emanates from him that provides the only known fixed point by which to navigate the warp will blink out and the galaxy will be rent asunder by Chaos. He looked that bad. Plus I saw them sacrifice a few thousand psykers to get him through the second day. They did it in Convention Hall B.

    The year started off with a screening of Re-Animator on Thursday night, with Jeffrey Combs, Bruce Abbot, and Barbara Crampton (who, like Elvira, is still super do-able despite being old) in attendance to do a panel. They also had Kathleen Kinmont from Bride of Re-Animator, but really who cares about her. She does reappear later in our narrative in a humorous role, so that’s something I suppose. In addition to their panel at the screening, they had a panel during the main convention.

    Nothing really funny to say about this
    The Re-Animator panel

    The panel was great in that, rather than just tell stories, almost the whole thing focused on the craft of filmmaking, particularly low-budget film making in the 80s. Without going into great detail, they spoke about the long days on low-budget shoots (14-18 hrs per day, as principal photography had to be completed in 18 days), and about how big name actors can get away with being aloof, but working in the nooks and crannies, the only way to get a good performance is for the actors to be completely emotionally available to each other in order to create instant chemistry. They mentioned that, as they all were coming from theater backgrounds, they got together at Barbara’s apartment for a few weeks beforehand to rehearse, which is a big no-no if SAG finds out about it because it constitutes working without pay. Jeffrey mentioned that sometimes having fewer resources forces the director and editor to make tighter, better choices, because when given infinite time and money, some people go overboard and don’t know when enough is enough. He also mentioned that, back when you had to actually film on, you know, film, low-budget productions would purchase things called “ends”. These were the chopped off leftovers of film reels after standard budget films were done using the reels. They’d cut off what was left and sell it cheap. So it was a great way to accumulate film on a tight budget, but you’d only be able to do like 3 minutes on each one and it was annoying to have to work through. As for the audience questions, it’s bizarrely awkward to ask a question to a woman whose tits & bush you just saw, along with her about to get eaten out by a revenant holding its own severed head between her legs (if you haven’t seen Re-Animator, stop what you’re doing and watch it now. It’s better than any Marvel film by x1000).

    The Lee Majors Q&A was a bit depressing. Due to the way television contracts were structured back then, he never saw a dime from any Steve Austin merchandise, and indeed claims to have had no idea so much of it was ever produced until he started doing conventions. He spoke about the old snobbery that shut out television stars from film productions, and told a funny anecdote about how he loved Bill Shatner when he worked with him, but that Shat had a tendency to, “die to the balcony”. He explained that it’s theater slang for wildly over-acting. He also talked about how Andre the Giant, when playing sasquatch on the show, pissed in the suit all the time, which was super gross, but was also the nicest guy in person you could ever hope to meet, which was super great.

    Joe Bob Briggs did a good panel, and spoke about the state of trash cinema and its relative place in modern film production vs. where it was when he got started way back when. He and I chatted a bit about small towns in west Texas. He didn’t think I’d know a few of the places where he’d lived, but I went to college in Lubbock, and so we shared some fond memories of a shitty place that is populated entirely by people who fail out of that college. Another really nice guy. Honestly, the only person who has ever been a dick to us after all these years that we’ve been going was Billy Zane. I still think that, much like Georgia against Texas this past year, Alabama against Oklahoma in that Sugar Bowl a few years back, or Florida against Louisville a few years before that, he just didn’t want to be there and therefore that magically excuses shitty performances.

    We bought a few stupid things, like a full-size xenomorph skull

    Ima use it for weird sex stuff
    So I own this now, I guess.

    because I’m buddies with that vendor and he gave it to me for wholesale. There were some good costumes, but frankly the best ones were people who come every year, and I already took pictures of them and showed you all over the last couple of years. So below are some pics from this year, but not nearly as many. Karaoke on Sat. night was awful, like always, though everybody was in a good mood. Kathleen Kinmont showed up to rock out, but was wasted and happened to share an elevator with us back up to our floor. She was drunk enough that she didn’t stop singing or rocking out once off the stage – it went for the whole elevator ride. There were no infamous David Arquette episodes, however (fun fact: right before he got on stage that night, he bought me a beer at the bar. I didn’t know until later that he was supposed to have been on the wagon. Whoops). I’m also now turning it into an annual tradition to bum a smoke off of Lance Henrikson. Nice guy, but seriously, American Spirits? C’mon, Lance, I wanna see some fancy Hollywood cigarettes.

    The year ended with the Sam & Ted Raimi with Bruce Campbell panel. It was really a treat. They’ve known each other since middle school, and told great stories about each other growing up. Sam busted Bruce’s chops constantly, and they told stories about all the things they did as they went around Detroit trying to scrounge up money to make Evil Dead. Sam Raimi has an annoyingly nasally voice, FYI. Anyway the highlight of the panel was, when half the room is raising their hand to ask a question, a particular person who was picked stood up and asked them their opinion on Mac and Me, a shitty 1988 E.T. knockoff. Now keep in mind, none of the panelists had a blessed thing to do with that abomination of a movie. Nothing. It was the non-sequitur from hell. They were so confused they didn’t even know what he was asking – Ted kept thinking he was asking about “mac and cheese”. The moderator even face-palmed and said under his breath but still audibly into the mike, “You get a chance to ask these guys a question and you ask about fucking Mac and Me?” and you could hear the exasperation in his voice. I mean it was bizarre. The questioner was booed down, and after the panel ended and I was waiting outside for my wife to use the restroom, Ted, Sam, and Bruce came out through that side hallway. They were still talking about that, making fun of the guy and wondering what the fuck he was talking about. Seriously, this is like getting to go back in time and pose a question to George Washington, and all you can come up with is asking him if he likes the new Prius body style.

    So that was this years (mis)adventure. I was quasi-drunk for most of it and blew $1,500 in three days, but fuck it, that’s why I fight for $15. I look forward to updating you all on the event’s 15th iteration next year, if you don’t see me in the news for bombing FanExpo beforehand.

    SERIOUSLY FUCK THIS DUDE
    TWO evil elevator movies from the same director? You’re fucking telling me that you made one evil elevator movie, looked yourself in the mirror and said, “You know what? Ima do it again. The world needs another killer elevator movie.”
    Bonus points for anyone who gets the reference on my shirt. If you need a closer look, it's also in the Bruce Abbott photo.
    Me in front of a legit 73′ Oldsmobile Delta 88, from the film Evil Dead.
    Plus a random slut apparently on her period
    Somebody dressed as the bad guy from Army of Darkness
    herp derp alt text
    Here’s one you don’t see every convention: a guy dressed like Dr. Loomis. Though he still had that fucking Walking Dead baseball bat, so fuck him.
    Seriously, I don't have to be "on" all the time. Provide your own fucking alt-text.
    The “battle Delta”, the Delta 88 transformed for combat at the end of Army of Darkness
    Which I suppose would be one redeeming quality : P
    This person has cleverly turned a book into a monster. My wife tells me it has something to do with Harry Potter, and is therefore un-Christian.
    Speaking of which, I'd still fuck Blondie.
    I just thought it was funny that this guy was dressed like a fascist, his name for the karaoke was like “Lord Commander” or some shit like that, and he sang fucking Blondie.
    Some leftist media site will be blaming this comic for at least 18 suicides by next week
    I love the difference between horror cons and other cons. Here, for example, instead of ripped dudes in tight clothes saving the world, we have family-friendly comics with titles like, “Lets All Die!”
    Randos in costume
    "You gotta creep, creep..."
    Some dude dressed as the Creeper
    I hope he went all method and made his pubes mossy as well
    This was a clever one. He’s dressed like Stephen King’s poor character from the movie Creepshow.
    Though I do wonder how well he sees.
    Clever Nightmare on Elm Street costume. More clever than the 1,000 Freddy’s walking around the convention, at any rate.
    Really if you love 70s Italian slashers, this is a great costume
    Remember when I did a series of film reviews that focused on the giallo genre? This guy gets it.
    Also, wood.
    The Death Note guy was here the last few years, but the chick’s demon costume was super intricate and she ended up winning the contest on Friday night I believe. The most important thing is she was hot.
    I mean they're marketing it directly to us now. Not even pretending anymore.
    OK now this is what is wrong with the world. This is the side of the box of a Castle Greyskull re-issue toy. Notice that, unlike, say, the original Castle Greyskull box, the person shown enjoying it is not a 5 year old boy, but rather a 35 year old “man” with a shit-eating grin on his face and I FUCKING WANT THAT CASTLE GREYSKULL.
    But not *too* cute, if you're reading this Chris Hansen
    A little kid dressed as Nosferatu. I thought it was cute.
    Also, kill yourself
    A shirt for little kids. If you don’t know what the Pork-Chop Express is, stop reading my fucking column.
    Hopefully it'll scare him out of being the little panty-waste that he is
    Another great example of horror culture – a children’s book titled, “I Like To Eat Children”. And yes, I bought it for one of my nephews.
    Eh, I dunno if I wood or wood knot - looks like she's keeping a lot held back with that corset
    Another pretty well done costume
    It may be a couple hundred bucks clever - that sign better be denominated in fucking pesos.
    I thought this was clever – the guy made a medusa skull.
    HOLY SHIT IT'S BEEN A WEEK AND I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE IT
    Remember when I mentioned in one of my film reviews about Anthropophagus, the giallo film about the crazy cannibal who at the end of the movie eats his own intestines? SOMEBODY MADE A FUCKING DOLL FOR THAT MOVIE HOLY SHIT
    W...T...F
    Weird nazi porn. “Deported Women of the SS Special Section” and “Gestapo’s Last Orgy”.
    ...or is it?
    Shit, it’s better than concentration camp porn
    Really cracker jack job on the costume, though
    This guy was the rarest thing of all at a convention – an original character. Sadly because it’s an original character I completely forgot it’s name and the youtube channel the people were trying to tell me to subscribe to where they upload their short films.
    Pretty good idea actually, all in all
    Ash Predator. He’s the Predator, but with a ripped blue shirt, chainsaw hand, shotgun slung on his back, and a deadite-colored severed head of another predator.
    Jokes on him, I still got it!
    Scott Ian of Anthrax making sure I know I’m not supposed to be taking a picture of him.
    He could tattoo Cthulu onto my dick since everybody who sees it goes insane
    Two tattoo artists this year. The wife and I are seriously thinking of signing up for a flash next year, which is really all they do given the time constraints.
    Also, wood
    Randumb decoration on a table. Only at Texas Frightmare.
    If any of you actually pay money to see it though, you're a dumbass. It wasn't money-spending good.
    Look in the background – it’s advertising a movie called Velocipastor that we saw for free that Friday night about a priest who turns into a were-dinosaur and saves Chinese prostitutes. It…was…awesome.

     

  • A Beginner’s Guide to Viva

    That's how you can tell we're at a classy place.
    These signs are all over at the Orleans

    Viva Las Vegas, it’s a film, a song, and one of the longest running Rockabilly weekenders in the world. What’s Rockabilly? It’s a style of music that started in the 50’s (primarily in Memphis at a little studio called Sun), had a revival in the 80’s, and has been slapping a bass since then. It’s split up into a huge range of subgenres, some going more punk, others going more “classic” (in this case 1950’s style). Among the fans, there’s also usually an appreciation of classic cars, 50’s fashion, and Americana culture. Pompadours, facial hair, flatcaps, and tattoos are common.

    Back to Viva… this year was the 22nd year that the event was held, and for as long as I’ve been going, it’s been held at the Orleans Casino and Resort in Las Vegas, off the strip. The Orleans is known as a locals casino. But over most Easter weekends (when Viva is held), they turn off the standard music, change it over to Rockabilly, and swarms of people with their classic cars and finest 50’s fashion fall upon the Orleans. The event is popular enough that rooms for the next year go on sale before the tickets for the event do, and the rooms sell out in under three hours.

    The men have it easy, bowling shirts and work shirts are the standard, with a couple of zoot suits and the like being worn. If you have hair, it’s either a high and tight or held up into a pompadour. The women have a much harder time dolling themselves up, but they go through the work and it shows. However, there are some entire families who dress themselves up in matching garb for the day (I’m not too sure about how much say the kids have, but they’re there).

    The Car Show is the highlight. If you can only go for a single day, this is the day.

    Over the course of the weekend, there’s burlesque shows, pinup contests, concerts, DJ’s, vendor rooms, dance lessons, make up lessons, fashion lessons, bowling, movie premiers, and other shows of interest to the attendees. And that’s not even mentioning the car show, it’s massive, with all cars (except the ones from movies/TV shows) being pre-1964. If you’re not careful, you could walk away purchasing one of the cars that are for sale.

    Now that you know what’s going on there, you’ve decided you want to go. Great, what should you plan for? First, plan on walking a lot. I don’t think I’ve walked less than 5 miles any day out there. Realize that you’ll probably not be able to get a room at the Orleans; however, keep in mind that they have a shuttle to their sister property (the Gold Coast), and the strip. Tickets for the main event come in basically two choices: The High Roller, which gives you access to everything all weekend; or the Car Show, which gives you access to the car show only on Saturday (that will include the vendors in that area, and the bands playing there). If you don’t have appropriate garb, then the vendors will be more than happy to help you out there, but bring cash as some do not take credit/debit cards..

    Sweet Pea’s Hooch and Smooch

    If you’re going for the first time, I’d recommend going to Sweet Pea’s Hooch and Smooch on Thursday afternoon. It’s the official meet and greet for the event, and then there’s more specific meetups for singles, LGBT, sober, black pin-ups, etc. I’d also recommend looking over the schedule ahead of time, and try to at least get a rough schedule of the events you want to see. Personally, I’d recommend at least one burlesque event, and the Charles Phoenix slide show. Most of the shows happen multiple times (but may be different for each of them), bands usually only play once, but then hang out around the weekender for the rest (I met one of the players from Los Straitjackets that way, it’s not like you can recognize them).

    I’ve already got my room booked for next year, and I hope to see some of you there.  If you haven’t seen it yet, here’s some pictures from this year, and some from years past.

  • What is Burning Man? Pt. 2

    In the last part of this series, I mentioned that the Burning Man attendees are the event. There are many ways in which this fact manifests, but the most prominent ways are theme camps and artwork. But what exactly is a “theme camp”?

    In short, a theme camp is a group of burners who bring an offering to the playa. They are interactive, open to the public, and of course they’re free. There is no specified set of rules on what a theme camp can be offering, but the nature of the camp will generally determine placement based on the whims of the BMOrg.

    As with everything else related to Burning Man, the concept of theme camps has evolved over the years. Back in the day before anyone I knew personally went to the event, you just showed up with your camp and set up whatever you wanted, however you wanted. This was also back in the days when you could drive around in a Jeep shooting guns into the air, dig holes in the ground to fill with gasoline and set ablaze, and engage in all sorts of otherwise fun anarchy.

    This changed as the event grew, particularly after the 1997 burn which was apparently “terrifying”. Growing demands from the government resulted in most of the changes, though a few things like a ban on handheld lasers came from the BMOrg without being forced upon them. As far as theme camps go, it used to be a completely different and mostly random structure every year with no clue what you would get. Once certain groups started showing up regularly and bringing more or less the same camp every time, placement disputes started cropping up with multiple groups wanting the same location. Sometimes a camp would show up to find one person had staked out the entire area for themselves.

    They addressed with issue with camp placement. For as long as I’ve been a burner, the prime real estate has been reserved for camps which apply to the BMOrg for space. If you want a premium location in the city, which is redefined to cover broader swaths every year, you have to draw up a design for your camp and submit the plans to the BMOrg along with a description of what you’ll be offering. The more closely you adhere to the 10 principles the more likely you are to be approved, but the BMOrg is capricious.

    The city is laid out shaped like the letter “C”, with concentric streets that are always named alphabetically from a word starting with “A” to “Whatever Letter We Need This Year” based on the theme and expected population, although the innermost and most prominent street with the “best” camps is always named “Esplanade”. My first year it was “A” through “H”, though by the end of the event they’d added two more (“I” and “J”) at the back to accommodate more people. There’s radial streets which stretch from the center at Esplanade to whatever the last street is that year spaced “30 minutes” apart. So you get addresses like “4:30 & A”, “8:00 & F”.

    The theme camps are all placed within this grid according to where the BMOrg thinks you belong. The massive sound camps which play dubstep and other electronic music non-stop for the entire week (and I mean it) generally get placed at the ends of the C, 10:00 and 2:00, facing outwards so they aren’t bombarding “residential” areas and causing more sleep deprivation. Smaller musical camps or ones which play different music may end up closer to the interior.

    During the few hours these guys were closed, the camp right next door was just getting started

    That said, their standards often change with the wind. One year I was with a camp that had been there for over 10 burns and was on “A” every year. The following year they ended up getting pushed back to “C”. The next year they placed on “H”. This year they apparently didn’t even get approved for placement at all and the camp may not happen since nobody involved managed to secure a ticket, which is getting increasingly difficult each year are ever greater percentages of tickets are reserved for approved/placed theme camps rather than being open to the general public.

    Not all camps are theme camps; not every camp is open and interactive. On one occasion my camp was just my wife and I, though we weren’t married yet during that burn. Definitely a small, non-interactive, closed camp. There’s also the hated “plug-n-play” camps, which are still non-interactive and closed, but are often quite large and provide everything a rich and famous burner could want on the playa, for a hefty fee, of course, sometimes exceeding $100,000. There’s controversy as to how to deal with these groups and some get explicitly barred from future burns, like a camp called Humano was.

    One example of a plug-n-play ‘fortress camp’, so people like Paris Hilton and Elizabeth Holmes don’t have to risk being seen out of costume

    As to the actual interactive theme camps themselves, they can generally be broken into two broad categories: daytime camps and nighttime camps. Similarly, most burners are either “daytime” burners or “nighttime” burners. During the day, the city has a slower pace and is dominated by smaller camps. There’s still some daytime party spots like Pink Mammoth and Distrikt that serve all the booze you can drink, but it’s not nearly as wild.

    They were giving out pancakes

    During the day, you’ll find a lot of camps offering things like yoga or aerials sessions, body painting and tattoos, bars, TED talks, bondage workshops, tasty food, hatmaking, film screenings, places to smoke hookah, theatre performances, woodworking pagodas, bouncy houses, and pretty much anything else you could expect to find in a major city (during the event, it’s Nevada’s third biggest city, complete with an airport). Except trash collection or recycling – that’s on you to take care of yourself.

    There’s also some ‘services’ offered by burners, like postal delivery, RV servicing, and bicycle repair shops. That last one is key, as bicycles are the primary mode of transit in Black Rock City due to the fact that the city measures over 2mi in diameter and, other than art cars, driving is not allowed (unless you’re a cop or emergency responder of some sort). More on that next time. The highly alkaline dust on the playa tends to eat away at tires and bicycle chains, making frequent repairs a necessity. Burning Man has claimed 5 different bicycles from me. One bike didn’t even make halfway through the event, leaving me on foot for the rest of the burn except when I could find an unused community bike to borrow.

    At night almost all of these services stop operating and most of the daytime camps close up, though some like the roller derby and mini golf stay open 24/7. Generally the city takes on a completely different aura. The people are completely different, too, as the nighttime burners tend to sleep during the day when it can get well over 120 degrees F. If you’re a nighttime burner, though, you need to pack for summer and winter temperatures, as it can be anywhere from 80 to 30 on a given night.

    When the sun goes down, the city lights up and things get more intense. The Thunderdome opens up for fighters to beat the crap out of each other with foam weaponry. Foot traffic to the orgy dome picks up and lines start to form outside it. The daytime bars shut down and the nighttime bars open their doors. Things you never realized were there during the day suddenly appear, such as one camp that projected Donald Trump’s face onto the ground for passersby to jump on, only to have him move out of the way every time and laugh. Interactive mazes spring out of the ground like Theseus’ labyrinth for you to navigate in complete darkness. One camp created a series of old-school arcade games where you were the “character” on a pressure-sensitive platform of LEDs. The lights, lasers, and fire generally associated with Burning Man are suddenly everywhere you look.

    No matter who you are, it will impress you. No pictures can adequately depict it and nobody can accurately describe it. Any two people could go and have completely different experiences; it’s entirely possible that you’ll come with someone whom you never cross paths with again until it’s time to leave, with both of you having never even entered the same camps.

    The interactivity of the theme camps is only half the splendor though. The people who are only there to party tend to limit their experience to a few select major sound camps, but in my personal opinion the most impressive part of Burning Man is the art, many of which end their lives by burning to the ground. We’ll take a look at some of the art and art cars, next time.

  • A tour of Pie’s Place: Bucharest, the greatest city in the world*

    I may have mentioned on this fair website that I hail from the magical lands of Romania in general, the capital thereof in particular. Bucharest can be a strange city. It is not always pleasant. It is loud, the air quality is quite poor, and the traffic is some of the worst in the world. The traffic contributes to both the bad air quality – lots of old second hand diesel cars for which the filters are not changed as needed – and the noise – Romanians do love to honk their car horns for no apparent reason.  While some areas are green, overall it lacks in this department. The public transport is mediocre at best – unless you are lucky enough to be able to use the subway, and even then it is very crowded.

    Damn nosy Germans

    On the other hand, there was a bit of economic boom recently and there are still opportunities for the entrepreneurial types – as long as you don’t mind the prospect of occasionally having to grease a palm; the luxury clubbing scene can be great if you are into that sort of thing; the hipster clubbing scene is quite good if you are into that sort of thing. You can find plenty of craft coffee, good wine bars, decent beer bars, good if not spectacular restaurants, and the prices are overall decent. There are plenty of things in stores, but still not as many as in richer nations. It is generally quite safe, the education is good – as long as you do not rely on schools for it, and the healthcare is good – as long as you don’t get sick. The cinemas show – amazingly for Europe – not dubbed movies, there are sufficient number of theaters, shows, concerts. The gyms are plentiful as long as you are not looking for serious strength / power-lifting and you enjoy machine biceps curls and looking at hot young things in tight yoga pants.

    For me it is home. Born and raised here. Probably the only place in Romania I will live in. This is generally true of most Romanians born in the few large cities which still have an economy. Especially true of Bucharest. I would find no reason to move unless I want to do so to a rural area – which I don’t – or abroad which I have not excluded yet. Most people in Romania move to Bucharest.

    To get a bit of the old history in, Bucharest is, unofficially, the oldest city in the world. It was first built by the Ancient Dacians in 9560 BC. Their technology was so advanced the city was completely indistinguishable from a heavily wooded swamp. Camouflage, if you will… It is to keep the jealous foreigners away, you see. After the Ancient Dacians left earth to colonize Orion’s belt, their descendants lost some of the tech. As such, about 600 years ago, Bucharest was re-imagined as a bunch of hovels for shepherds. After that it continued in a haphazard fashion and became the capital of Wallachia.Bucharest, circa 1200 AD

    It is not, geographically, a particularly good place for a capital. It is in the middle of what was an extensive forest and/or swamp and is now sort of a dry steppe. The Plains of Baragan. In the summer it can be scorching hot – 40 degrees of it – and the dust from the dry plains, plowed for agriculture, but insufficiently irrigated is raised by hot winds and dumped onto the city, doing wonders for air quality. The dust is compounded by all the building going on and, just for fun, we get an occasional dump of Sahara dust, migrating all the way from Africa. In the winter, it can get under -20 and the cold winds roar over the plains, unhindered by obstacles. It is, I believe, the EU capital with the highest difference between summer and winter temperatures. It was also not that easy to defend, which I assume is why the Ottomans liked it as a potential capital, compared to the previous ones which were in more mountainous terrain.

    But a capital it is, since 1698 for Wallachia and the capital of Romania – smaller and greater – for as long as there was a Romania. Officially it has about 2 million people, unofficially probably quite a bit more, as people who come here do not formally change their residence in government records. It was the sort of capital that, throughout history, gave western travelers the chance to write the people back home about the quaint, backwards, chaotic little eastern town they are staying in. It was rather Balkan, if you will, and always a hundred years behind the west. The fact that the occasional earthquake leveled things, or, when that did not happen, a fire or plague did, was not…helpful. Romania was also a bit of a battleground for Austrians, Russian, Turks, Polish, Tatars and whoever felt like a little bit of ye olde invasion.

    After Romania became Romania and the general industrial revolution started locally, things started to improve. Slowly but steadily, in local fashion. This was the time when the architecture and high culture brought about the name “Little Paris” (Micul Paris) of the east, to insult the French, I assume. It had some more advanced features, to be fair. It was one of the first cities in Europe to have horse drawn trams when in 1871, “Societatea Anonimă Română de Tramvaie”, with English and Belgian capital received permission to install the metal tracks. In 1893, electric trams came about. In 1861, it became one of the few cities in Europe to have gas powered street lighting, before Paris did. In 1882, the first electric street lights came about.

    Things were not perfect and there were still plenty of slums – but things were constantly improving. Until communism came about and the improvements became clearing entire neighborhoods and building brutalist apartment blocks, close together, with few green spaces and little parking. They were poorly made, poorly insulated, with small cramped apartments which did not always have heat or hot water in winter. But they were needed to get the workers in, workers who were supposed to man the hastily built factories and give birth to the socialist dream. Mostly they became … what is the word… disillusioned, alienated… They were either from the old neighborhoods or from the country and apartment living was not always positively received. While country houses rarely had plumbing, they had some space, some green, some feeling of community which now was missing. The subway was built and the trams greatly expanded to cart the people from the apartments to the factories. And life was.

    Fast forward again, communism fell and after the first 10 years of not much happening, a new construction boom took place. Newer – better, but expensive – apartment buildings were made, the suburbs expanded for those who wanted their own house rather than an apartment, the factories were torn down to make way for shiny office buildings. The old brutalist buildings where insulated and restored – which meant putting polystyrene on the outside and painting them.

    Due to the difficulty of getting cars in communism, it became a status symbol and now everyone wants one. They are, to be fair, useful to have. But the communists did not design the city for cars. The streets are not large enough and parking is significantly below requirements. This led to cars being parked everywhere, further restricting traffic as at least one lane of a road is occupied by parked cars. People drive angry, park angry, honk their horns and swear, there are feuds so to speak over parking spots. But, in the end, people do have cars and the housing stock is improving. Some of the new ones are quite nice. And traffic and parking are, in the end, a huge problem in all large European capitals.

    Overall, despite its problems, Bucharest is reasonably thriving right now, all things considered. I cannot say I have a bad lifestyle, although I would like better air quality and less noise. My commute to work is about 35 minutes each way, but 28-30 of that is walking, which I do not have a problem with and count it to daily exercise. I take the subway for two stops, and usually at hours when it is not crowded due to being a morning person. But even if crowded, 2 stops in 5 minutes is bearable. While this post may seem somewhat negative –and it somewhat is, there are many aggravating things about this place and people tend to focus on the negatives – it is not among the bad places of the world. It can be quite good, depending.

     

     

    *109, according to Mercer ”Quality of living city ranking” 2019

     

  • Minnesota Nice Meetup

    Tomorrow is the big day. Finally, after years of lurking and then hesitant posting, I’d have a chance to meet some Minnesota Glibs. I’m a little excited, not in a sexual way, but more in “be prepared for a science test in high school” way. So it’s off to bed, hoping to get a good night’s sleep.

    Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…somewhere in the darkness I drifted off to sleep, just like Kenny Rogers’ “Gambler.” I’m all prepared, I have my clothes all laid out. I’d ironed my newest bib overalls, using spray starch to get the crisp crease, found my Christmas flannel shirt and I want to look my best so I’m going to wear the bow tie that has the flashing lights. I’ll have to remember to check the batteries to make sure the lights work alternately and will switch to both lights blinking together. As I get ready I decide to use some hair pomade but Dixie Peach is hard to find here so I went with the regular brand. I opened up the can of Bag Balm and it was nearly empty! I was able to use my little finger around the corners of the can and got about a tablespoon, not much but it will have to do. I made a mental note to get the economy size the next time I was in Tractor Supply. I want everything to be perfect, first impressions are important, just as Miss Sawyer said in English class.

    For a while I had thought for the occasion I’d wear my white painter’s bibs, the ones that have the Dickie’s logo on the patch in the front, but I couldn’t get enough of pine tar out of the knees from the day I helped my friend Gus unload a truck full of rough sawed pine. Besides, it’s not formal and the fashion magazines all say no white after Labor Day. Boots for the meet up ’cause I want to look manly but I won’t turn the socks down, I don’t want to appear pretentious. I checked my bow tie, making sure the wire to the batteries was hidden inside my shirt, a trick I’d learned from my older brother. I’d better stop and get extra batteries, I don’t want the lights to quit blinking halfway through the meet up. Checked myself in the ceiling mirror in the bedroom and I knew I was ready.

    Make the long drive to Minneapolis-actually to a northern suburb-to meet Pope Jimbo, Tundra and A Leap at the Wheel for the very first time. I know these fellas from their witticisms on the Glibertarians site. I don’t really know them, but I mean that’s where I’ve seen their well thought out insights and comedy efforts that always produce either awe or a hearty chuckle. We’re meeting at the Conference Room in Caribou Coffee and I admit to being a little nervous.

    I check in with the receptionist, a pert but matronly young lady- I would guess a high school drop out with two kids but studying for her GED ’cause her boyfriend wants her to get into Cosmetology School so she can work when he’s laid off in the winter. Right now she’s senior barista, cashier and table clean up, as well as Glibertarians receptionist.

    She directed me down the hall to Conference Room 3, but reminded me to use the Secret Knock. Oh, oh, I wasn’t prepared for that, but she whispers, “Shhh, middle two fingers, rap twice but firmly, wait exactly ten seconds, then flat palm the door, you’ll hear a ‘Come In’. Immediately open the door and enter.”

    Nervously, I approach the Conference Room. It had a large brass 3 on the door and below that someone has written “Janitor’s Closet” in magic marker. I use the Secret Knock, wait 10 seconds and follow it up with a flat palm. A voice from inside says, “Come in.” I try the door knob, one, two, three times, then the voice says…“Turn the knob in the other direction.” I do and the door opens. At this point I know I’ve committed a “Folks Pass” as we said in sophomore French Class.

    There is a folding leg card table in the middle of the room, four chairs, three men. I quickly survey the faces and try to put a name on each, from my observations of their comments. I recognize the more serious looking one as Leap, the good looking one as Tundra, and the happy one as Pope Jimbo. Now I approach the table and we start with the introductions. Leap stands up and offers his hand and says, “I’m Tundra.” I kiss his ring, noticing that it was the Monopoly Scottie dog. I go to Pope Jimbo, we shake, I kiss his ring which is the top hat and he says, “I’m A Leap at the Wheel, but you can call me Leap.” Now the last one, Tundra, is left and we repeat the formal introduction, his ring is the thimble, super glued in an inverted position, open end up. He says, “And I’m Pope Jimbo, but you can call me Pope or Jimbo or Mr J or Mr P but you don’t have to call me Johnson.” They all laugh.

    I start to sit down and I hear, “There are rules, Dude,” whispered from an unknown. I look up and see that sitting down first is Leap, followed by Pope Jimbo, lastly Tundra. Leap waves me into the empty chair. “We’ve been looking over your application and biography and find you’ve had a rather interesting life. The time you pushed the girl out of the way while getting on the school bus makes us believe you are a take charge kind of person.” I nodded, they were seeing things correctly. “And the time you saved your friend Bobby from walking into a puddle without probing the depth first was nothing short of heroic.” I was a little embarrassed at having to acknowledge these personal feats, but I really wanted to be accepted as a Glib.

    I looked across the room and saw a shelf with three caps, lined up like marines on parade. These were not knock-offs but genuine Glib merchandise, custom embroidered. From left to right they read:

    “Glibs Yesterday” then “Glibs Today” and lastly “Glibs Tomorrow”

    I could see a white plastic bag with a red cap in it that said “Glibs Forever” and an empty space on the shelf. I knew that would be mine if all went well today.

    Suddenly, the informalities were over and a certain aura fell over the room. Tundra announced that he had copies of the day’s agenda; I could participate in the discussion, but was not allowed to vote. He passed the agendas out and for my benefit explained the rules. There were ten subjects on the agenda that had been submitted and ranked according to their importance. Each person would have 90 seconds to discuss the implications and on to the next person. After everyone had a chance to speak, each person would get 30 seconds to summarize or rebut, then a vote would be taken. Leap would be the moderator, Tundra the time keeper because he had an official Special Olympics stopwatch with the big numbers, and Pope acting as a sort of controller, using a power point pointer (with the light on it) to signify who was in the on deck circle.

    So the discussion started. First item, how high should the wall be on the Mexican border that was being discussed nationally? A lively discussion with a lot of emotion, economics and established facts followed. I found it difficult to keep up because of the speed and coherence of the conversation.

    It was like this all afternoon, as agenda item after item was dissected and remodeled in a Glibertarian format. At one point someone mentioned MikeS’s idea/opinion and I pointed out that he was not a Minnesota Glib, but I heard the “There are rules, Dude” repeated so I dropped it.

    At the conclusion of the agenda discussion Happy Hour commenced and all formalities were dropped, everyone was relaxed, on a first name basis, like Leap, Pope and Tundra because it was hard to shorten up his name but still he didn’t seem to mind. The conversation was generally surly, sarcastic and offensive, much like the daily comments I’d come to enjoy from Glibs. Soon, however, the time had come to say goodbye. I felt I’d made an average to good impression. We all walked out together, laughing, enjoying the Glib camaraderie.

    As I got into my truck I noticed the same white plastic bag I’d seen in the conference room. Somehow the receptionist had sneaked that bag into the truck without me noticing. My heart was pounding. I opened up the bag, and there it was. A red hat with Glib embroidered on it and below that was “Forever.” I was in! Hat on, I sped out of the parking lot and was heading for home when I felt something bam-bam-bam in my back. “Uh-uh-uh” was all the sound I could make.

    “Wake up! Wake up! You were talking in your sleep again, some crazy thing about the Pope being A Sleep at the Wheel and driving on the Tundra.”

    Then it hit me, I’d been dreaming the dream of every novice Glib…

  • The Jerk in the Circle

    I’m part of a circle. We’re going to have to go back eight years to understand what that means. My daughter was two and the wife was itching to return to her company. So we found a decent nursery school in our neighborhood. Finally, I could cut down on the 50 and 60 hour work weeks.

    Orientation for the nursery school was on a Saturday morning. We tried to dig out a dress for the kid that wasn’t covered in snot, puke or whatever that last stain was. The wife was smoking hot in her navy blue business suit. I was smoking not in my jeans and sweatshirt. The nursery was only a five-minute drive away, so of course, we were five minutes late.

    While my wife looked for a parking spot, I stuffed the kid under my arm and sprinted into the lobby. “Orientation 2F”. The room was packed with parents sitting on the wood floor, black-haired rugrats perched on their laps. With a Sumimasen, I squeezed my white butt into a gap between two families. In the front of the room, a buck-toothed lady with perky breasts was leading the orientation.

    A couple of minutes passed before my wife slid the door open and slithered inside. “Your shoes!” she whispered in my ear. In my haste, I hadn’t realized I was supposed to change into slippers at the genkan. I discretely covered my feet with my jacket, hoping no one had noticed. My kid farted. I hoped no one had noticed. It smelled really bad. I hoped…

    The room was decorated with finger paintings of elephants and monkeys. The gulag rules were being emphatically explained by Ms. Perky Breasts. “I can handle this”, I thought to myself. I leaned back on my elbows, enjoying the show. A boney hand squeezed my shoulder. I turned my head and was met with the mole-covered face of a bald father in a rumpled business suit. “I translate for you.” This I definitely could handle. A deftly delivered Kekko desu, despite being polite, is remarkably similar to the English “F*** Off” and I must’ve nailed it because he pouted and turned back to listening to Ms. Perky Breasts.

    An hour and a half later, we rose from the floor and tried to rub life back into our seized up knees. A formal group bow of gratitude to the leader and orientation was finished! I got the kid bundled up in her coat and scarf as she squirmed and protested. But we weren’t ready to leave yet. My wife had disappeared. I scanned the room looking for her and Ms. Perky Breasts captured my gaze. “Mama,” my daughter squeaked, as she tugged on my jacket sleeve and pointed. In the corner of the room, there was a cluster of women yapping away, one of them in a navy blue business suit. These were mothers that had run into each other at the pediatrician and playground a few times, and now they were shooting the breeze with the intimacy of veterans at a Normandy reunion.

    They were forming a circle. There are university circles, high school circles, and retiree circles. A university circle will often have a common theme like skiing or karaoke to unite them, but the main point is just to share time with others. At a nursery school, a circle is simply a group of parents that agree to support each other and plan activities for their children to do together.

    That was eight years ago. The same six women that formed that cluster in the corner after orientation are now close friends. Our kids play with each other after school. We go camping, hiking, and grape picking together. We have dinner parties at each other’s houses where the women engage in boisterous conversations well past midnight over empty wine bottles and half-eaten plates of fried rice and gyoza. They are united by the desire to help each other become better parents. It was a support network that formed organically and voluntarily.

    There are no laws requiring diversity or inclusivity in our circle. In fact, at times we are discriminatory and intolerant. One mother tried to join our circle a few years back. Her mistake was demanding that I only speak in English to her child. One of the mothers in our circle overheard the conversation and iced her out from that moment forward. It was their turn to say, “We can handle this.” And they shunned her in the terribly effective manner that only Japanese females can. The point of the circle is to bring us together and that woman’s demand was a thumb in the eye of our unspoken charter. I’m grateful to be part of a group of people that treat my family as equals and not some resource to be exploited. My gratitude runs deeper than the gratitude I had for those perky breasts eight years ago in orientation.

     

    Here’s a link to my kid and one other kid from our circle jamming on the electone.

    *Thanks to Couch Potato for the editing help.

  • What is Burning Man? Pt. 1

    A decade ago, most people had never heard of Burning Man. Telling someone you were going or had been, would mostly get you blank stares. If you got any other reaction it was probably a very positive one as most people who did know about it found it enthralling and either had been themselves or really wanted to go but hadn’t had the chance for whatever reason.

    Fast forward to 2019, and nearly everyone has heard of the now infamous ‘biggest party in the world’ held 90 miles north of Reno, NV in the Black Rock Desert each year during the week before Labor Day. Nowadays, media reports and social media influencers are where most people get their knowledge of the event. Because of this, misconceptions abound as to what Burning Man actually is, and how its culture is spreading throughout society.

    In order to counter a lot of this lack of knowledge, misconceptions, and preconceived notions about Burning Man, I’m writing up a three-part series. This first part mostly talks about background information, basic infrastructure, how the event works, and its ethos/culture. Part two will be focused on theme camps and events. Part three will cover art works/emplacements and mutant vehicles.

    I’ve been to six burns, most recently in 2016, and have watched it go from a niche counterculture to having mainstream mass appeal. Several friends of mine have been more times than I, stretching many years further back in time, which was how I was introduced to this pseudo-alternate reality world which resembles an odd hybrid of communist central planning and techno-libertarian societies.

    It used to be that you only went to this event if you knew someone who had already been and could effectively serve as your mentor. As the Burning Man Organization is fond of saying: this is not a festival. If you are ill prepared, you very well may die. It’s happened. You used to have to sign a waiver back in the days before they had on-site ambulance service, medical tents, and a helicopter at the ready to take you to Reno. It’s an extremely harsh environment with many hazards, be they natural or man-made.

    That said, this was always part of the appeal, and many people bring their kids as young as three regardless of these risks. It always felt like a sort of frontier. There wasn’t even cell service until 2014 and no ubiquitous WiFi. Everyone wore a watch, an actual watch, just to tell them the time, and people kept their phones locked up. This is still the case for the early half of the burn, until the dreaded tourists show up around Thursday to stare at their phones and do glamor shoots for their Instagram accounts.

    The tourists and narcissists are a relatively new phenomenon though. There were always some ‘weekend warriors’, but ‘sparkle ponies’ were the bigger nuisance for many years. The event first started in 1986 and only sold out for the first time in 2011. You used to be able to get a ticket whenever you wanted, or even at the gate, for as low as $100. Now it’s a mad rush to get one, so it ends up on many people’s bucket list who attend with no prior interest in or knowledge of the event’s culture and history.

    The event is held on public land under Bureau of Land Management jurisdiction. They impose strict population limits, which have generally increased each year, and a slew of other restrictions regarding maintaining the natural environment, such as requiring the event’s perimeter be surrounded with a trash fence. It was the first “Leave No Trace” event, and they’ve done a rather good job of making sure you wouldn’t be able to tell it happened if you go beforehand or afterwards. However, ever increasing BLM fees and ever more demands from the 6 police departments with a presence there have driven the cost up to $425 minimum, unless you get a subsidized “low-income” ticket. On the high end, you can spend around $1,400 for one ticket plus another $100 for a vehicle pass.

    All this gets you is access to the city, and it is indeed a city. The Burning Man Organization provides “roads”, which are just packed down dust sprayed regularly with water to keep them under control, road signs, a single Center Camp, about a dozen banks of porta potties, and The Man, which is lit on fire with an amazing firework display on Saturday night. Everything else in the city is brought and built by the attendees, although they’ve started placing “Black Rock Ranger” stations and medical tents around as well.

    The attendees ARE the event. All the party locations are brought, built, and paid for by attendees, who often pay DJs big bucks to spin there, though the no-names are often better. There’s multiple competing post offices run entirely by burners. (Dis)information centers, “human car washes”, vehicle lockout services, playgrounds and trampoline parks, pretty much everything you’ll find was brought there by someone who thought it would be cool to have X, Y, or Z on ‘the playa’ and just did it out of their own pockets.

    The BMOrg (often called ‘the borg’) also provides a theme for each year. This year is “metamorphosis”. Previous examples include “fertility”, “metropolis”, “good and evil”, “Da Vinci’s workshop” and many others throughout the years. There’s also “10 principles” the BMOrg tries to enforce on the event but have gotten somewhat lazy about recently. Leave No Trace is one of those, and they keep to it under threat of ruinous fines. Another big one is Decommodification, which basically means nothing can be bought, sold, or traded.

    Burning Man runs on a ‘gifting economy’. The only concession they make on this is ice and coffee, which the BMOrg sells around the city. Other than that, everything is free. If you see a restaurant offering pancakes, they’ll be given to you at no charge. If you stop by a clothing store, feel free to grab a shirt and pants, which will likely have been ‘gifted’ to the store itself at some point. My wife and I often gift necklaces.

    In the past, anyone could set up a restaurant. Starting in 2013 though, the Nevada Health Department started requiring any restaurants gifting food to the general public to get permits and be inspected. This also applies to large private kitchens serving camps of 125 or more. Never accept gifts of food that aren’t factory sealed though unless you (a) are getting it from a restaurant, (b) know and trust the source, (c) don’t mind the chance of getting drugged, or (d) ask if the food contains drugs. People are usually honest on (d) if you ask, but a camp next door to mine one year took a bunch of Altoids from a stranger without thinking to ask and they turned out to be laced with LSD. Whoops. Welcome to Burning Man.

    A lot of this stuff and more is what veteran burners usually tell people right off the bat to weed people out. We also like to toss in factoids like “there’s no showers so be prepared to be sweaty and smelly for a week”, “there’s no dumpsters so you have to pack out all your own trash”, “you need to prepared to bring, store, and cook a week’s worth food”, “you’re likely to run out of gas”, “there’s dubstep playing LITERALLY ALL THE TIME”, “dust storms = whiteout conditions on a moments notice”, “police will arrest you for driving 1mph over the speed limit”, and a few other tropes that boil down to “burning man sucks, don’t go.” Yes, there’s a lot of sex, drugs, and nudity, but we don’t usually talk about or emphasize those parts. They’re just one small part of the greater whole.

    That’s all just part of the culture. It’s definitely a harsh climate that most Americans or really anyone ‘civilized’ could go crazy in, and veterans try to keep out too many clueless virgins (the term used for first-time burners) who just want to go to a big exclusive weeklong party. For those virgins who do go, there’s a lot of other rubs and insider false knowledge (paging Not Adahn) spread to mess with them and identify fakers. “Daft Punk is playing at the trash fence” is the biggest of these. Anyone who says they saw Daft Punk at the trash fence is BSing you.

    First-timers who don’t have any sort of mentor can generally make do by joining up with a larger camp. Many people in these camps have multiple burns under their belt and will make sure newbies have a pleasant experience. These camps usually cost money to join though, from a few hundred to a few thousand bucks, to pay for all the amenities they bring for their campmates and the general public. Considering most attendees are already looking at several thousand in expenses ($425 ticket +$100 vehicle pass + $200-$500 gas + $500-$1500 airfare/vehicle rental) just to get there and back home, many may not be willing or able to fork over more money to join a camp where they’ll probably also be required to work shifts and help with setup/breakdown before and after the burn. You’ll also need to take more time off work.

    If you’re flush with cash, you can usually buy your way out of every issue. This fact really pisses off most veteran burners, because “buying your burn” runs completely counter to the event’s culture in many ways. Radical self-reliance (one of the 10 principles) means “building your burn” and adapting to the harsh climate in your own way, such that you survive the event, thrive, and have a great time doing it. Having to rely on yourself (and/or a small contingent of friends) for the week while having a blast amidst a city that didn’t exist a month before your arrival is what sparks the life changing experiences many people, myself included report after attending.

    Next time, we’ll dive into the backbone of Black Rock City: theme camps and the events they offer.

  • Glib is a social construct

    Hello and welcome back to “Pie ponders”, in which Pie – that is me, for those who are well… slow – raises questions on various topics of great importance. Today, we talk about social constructs and their role in the world. The usual disclaimers apply, this is not an academic opinion (for whatever those are worth) cause the internet is full of them. It is just some random musing.

    First things first… What do you mean, social constructs? Well a social construct means, conveniently, whatever you need it to mean to suit your argument. I will analyze but a minor aspect of this vast topic, in my typical way of doing such things. But let’s start by giving The Grandfather of All Knowledge, Wikipedia, and a quick quote

    A social construct or construction concerns the meaning, notion, or connotation placed on an object or event by a society, and adopted by the inhabitants of that society with respect to how they view or deal with the object or event.[citation needed] In that respect, a social construct as an idea would be widely accepted as natural by the society.

    A major focus of social constructionism is to uncover the ways in which individuals and groups participate in the construction of their perceived social reality. It involves looking at the ways social phenomena are developed, institutionalized, known, and made into tradition by humans.

    Alt text is disrespectful for things Holy

    Social constructs seem, in my experience, to have a more prominent role in the discourse of the more progressive part of the political mess. This is part of a fairly straight forward strategy: declare things they do not like as being social constructs imposed by some sort of oppressive structure and decide those things can be changed at will, to suit whatever social justice goals. I want to try to have a quick look at this claim and all the activism it underlies.

    There are two ways, in my view off course, to address social construct. The wrong way, which comes from the frankly ridiculous purely social constructionist / blank slate view of humanity, and the correct way, by looking at human history and how social contracts appeared and evolved.

    In past posts I have briefly mentioned the nature vs nurture debate of the individual human – with my view that it is combination of both and the boundary is blurry at this time (time is a social construct). Nature can have two components human nature, which was built by millions of years of evolution, and non-human environment which shapes the underlying human material.  As a side note, I have always found the blank slate view on the left curious, given those people mock the religious for not believing in evolution, but somehow think that evolution created a total blank slate human. It is awful silly.

    Now… to address the concept of social constructs. To a point, and depending on definitions, everything is a social construct in human interaction. Humans are, after all, social being and they have enough intelligence and self-awareness to go beyond pure nature and instinct, this is what makes humans human.

    A good number of social constructs have their origin in some biological / environmental factor or other and have evolved slowly over the years. They are old and similar in many civilizations, some of which evolved independently throughout history.  So how did they come to be? Chance? The social construct fairy? For others, the “social” element is stronger, especially when the origin is let us say murky. I would give, as an example of this, various rituals and superstitions and taboos born out of the general human fear of the unknown and of the supernatural. They can take a wide variety of forms from the same deep roots.

    Many social changes came after technological changes, which took humans further from nature and, as such, less constrained by pure biology. Social constructs of the hunter gatherer pack may have existed for many years until the first village came to be. Those villages had their social constructs until the town, the city, the kingdom, the empire made their way. Social constructs, for the most part, did not change suddenly and randomly. And while they were shaped by various humans – especially ones in position of influence – to suit their wishes, this was a slow process and, for most cases, not in any way designed or planned in advance.

    Off course, there being a lot of variables, there were differences between various cultures. Some of this influenced by environment, some by small random divergences which accumulated over many years. But you can also find plenty in common.

    The more technology and economy evolved, the more population grew – all interlinked things – the more humans moved away from the pure natural world. Humans began to shape the world as the world shaped them. Societies and forms of organization became more complex, and social constructs kept pace, to the point that some have very little purely biological origin, or better said very little tApparently puff puff pass is not a social cosntructhat can be easily discerned.

    There is no underlying patriarchy permeating human society and molding social constructs to oppress women by imposing purely social gender roles, as your friendly neighborhood feminist may tell you. There are, however, patriarchal organizations of human society, that being a different thing.  It is not like men secretly got together in 11345 BC and held a council in which they decided to start oppressing the wymminz and formulated a plan to that effect. Off course, no one with half a brain actually suggests this, but the interwebz are vast and much derp exists. Most of the gender roles had some of their roots in biology and were slowly shaped – for better or worse – over the years.

    It is, off course, absolutely true that social organizations throughout human history had oppressive elements, sometimes fewer, sometimes more, depending. But while this is true, it is, in isolation, meaningless. There are oppressive elements, so what? If you do not understand them properly, you will not be able to fix them. And ignoring biology and environment stops that understanding in its tracks.

    One can say religion in general has roots in human biology, while acknowledging that the different forms of many religions have less of a direct root in nature. But many of those religions started as basic animism and were molded by a developing humanity over many thousands of years to reach the current state where any random Sci-Fi writer can start his own cult.

    The fact that something may be a social construct does not mean it is necessarily bad or that needs be changed or that it does not have a serious reason for existing, this is something that needs proving. It does not mean it does not have strong roots in nature and environment. It does not mean it can be changed at will and, if it can be change, maybe not to whatever idealistic view some have. There may be many ramifications and secondary effects. A lot of social constructs are well established, old, powerful and difficult to alter. On the other side of things, this does not necessarily mean one should give up on change, just that one needs be very careful with it. Change what to what how and can we have a metric of a successful change?

    Many things exist for a reason and you cannot just tear them down and replace them with nothing. You can rebuild some from the ground up, but not all at once. A revolutionary approach to social change rarely works. To use a meaningless analogy – if the pillars to a building need repair, you do not knock them down all at once.

    And in the end, if what you are trying to build strays too much from human nature as constrained by the current environment, you will fail. Fortunately, in such cases, you need never admit failure because it was not the concept that failed, but just that the wrong people were involved, there was a vast conspiracy against them, and yes some eggs may have been broken but that does not mean you give up, you try again even harder.

    I was going to write more about it but I decided to keep it short. Brevity is the soul of Pie. To leave one last though to illustrate the point, we can agree big boobs – broadly speaking, thicc-ness in general – and large penises are pure social constructs, while on the other hand, the NBA being better than MLB is simply objective reality. Discuss.

  • Political Daydreams Part II: The Great Divorce

    Let’s assume that nothing in Part I worked, and we have one group of people bound and determined to rule another one.  In order to prevent a shooting war, we agree to split the population apart in such a way that prevents authority from being exerted across some new boundaries.  How do we do this?  Here are some ideas.  Again, like the previous this is mostly to inspire creative ideas or at least entertaining arguments among the Glibertariat.

    Ideas 1-4:  the various sorts of “-exit” scenarios that have been floated before, which you don’t need me to reiterate here.  Free Cascadia!

    Idea 5:  Matched Cal- and Texit.  California and Texas are simultaneously split off into their own countries, The Democratic People’s Red Star Commonwealth and the Second Lone Star Republic.  If we wanted to be complete dicks about this, we would draw the boundaries starting at the state line, but retaining adjacent counties that wished to remain part of the Untied States.  A set period of time, say 20-50 years would then elapse, at the end of which time either of the two new countries could apply to rejoin the union or other states in the US could apply to TNCOTB.

    Idea 6:  The rise of the City-States.  When a municipality reaches a certain population, it can build a wall along its boundaries and be granted self-rule.  At that point, the residents of that city-state cease to have voting rights in state and federal elections.  The HoR seats would also be re-apportioned.  The City-State status could also be imposed by a plebiscite of the non-city state residents with some sort of overwhelming majority (2/3 at least) being required for passage.  I actually kind of like that idea, since the Great Divide here seems to be less geographic, and more urban/rural.  I also like the idea of Escape from New York and Escape from LA being things that would actually happen.  But mainly I like the idea of the population centers having to deal with the agricultural people as equals rather than simply imposing their desires on them from mere dint of numbers.

    You may now begin to tell me what an idiot I am.