Burning Man: Day 7

Art people

Life masks drowning in the sand

Lo-fi PiP

New friends. As loud as they were, I don't blame them... I blame The Man

Half of this year's theme... Hope.

Sharon from Isreal. He rode up to me and asked if I spoke Hebrew. I said, "Which desert do you think this is??"

Mmmm, toasty

All dressed up and no place to go

Borat says "High five!"

Motorized mini-cakes

A late night is off-set by an equally late morning. I hate sleeping in the heat of mid-day, which crept in earlier than its namesake -- by 10am it was scorching. This contributed to my slow departure from camp, some time just after the noon hour. I have been existing thus far without pain, but I had an initial destination of the Temple of Tears to spend some time with ghosts: past, present and future. It was hot in the temple and an eclectic band played in what appeared to be slow motion; the individual players being crushed by the invisible but omni-oppressive lack of any detectable breeze. I walked between all the little signs, taking with me a little energy and sadness from each. I became lost in my own head, and wandered away from the place of sorrow to be alone. I eventually returned to the temple, but had no life left in me for it, and so moved on.

Back at camp, I gathered Larry and Tom for a pit-stop at center camp, the foot wash place and then The Man for the parade of pasties, the noisy neigborhood of nipples... it was critical tits! It was a total zoo, but after the ladies had left the starting gate, the three of us found a good spot along the flight path to observe the 25 minutes worth of smiling, waving and nervous-but-always-shirtless ladies. There was an after party, but we had our own back at the camp to attend -- margaritas were on the menu and everyone was feeling thirsty in the afternoon heat. The only person to stop by was Steve (from work) but it hardly mattered since we were now a small army of 16 within our own camp.

Night fell with howls from camps far and wide; Tom and I had tried to gain access to the Random Pizza Experience, but failed. We were sent away with promises of "tomorrow, tomorrow" and with empty bellies. We did receive a gift-slice which boosted our spirits and glucose levels. I was eager to get back to camp to gather my cameras and head out for a night of photography. It was rough going with my mini-tripod and woefully inadequate technology... but fun was impossible to avoid, specifically down at the Thunderdome. A drunk Hispanic man borrowed my bike for a bit, which was a little concerning but had a happy ending. I was back at camp not long after midnight -- only Ben was there, nursing his rash, which was nice (the quiet, not his rash). The two of us, acting as our own platoon, held down the proverbial fort as our alter egos (he as the Private, me as the Major) until the wee hours when everyone else returned.