Watch out you might get what you’re after
Boom babies strange but not a stranger
I’m an ordinary guy
— the prophet byrne
They are dressed in their Sunday finest, assuming you’re consuming acid on Sunday when you choose your attire. There’s music and hugs and lights and absurd costumes and fire. Everywhere, fire.
It’s odd to be a total outsider at an event that is half party, half worship service, half concert. Unless that’s two many halves. In a fiesta of steampunk and bursts of colors, I’m wearing a ratty giveaway T-shirt from a defunct minor league baseball team. OK, so I don’t fit in. But it’s an event for people who don’t fit in elsewhere, so I figure it’s oddly fitting. I was at an alternative music festival once when folk singer Richard Thompson took the stage. “I guess I’m the alternative to alternative,” he said. That’s me.
I never much had the urge to attend Burning Man. Rick always wanted to. He was always pushing me. This is the year, he would say. This is the year. But the year never came. And now, as I stand with the flames heating my face and the hula hoops in flight, I feel a deep regret. Why didn’t we?
There’s something about the vibe here. It’s people with a common goal, although I’m not quite sure what the goal is. But I love it. They’re a tribe. I need a tribe.
So for one evening, I borrowed theirs. I’m an ordinary guy. Burning down the house …