Elorrum wrote:Good: blue lights on portapotty banks. Genius.
Bad: candle powered paper flying lanterns
The blue porta-shit lights made navigation in the dust storms oddly easy. Best:
The people: My awesome
neighbors Dino and Serpent, and the birgin Matthew; the other Media Mecca people; passers-by.
I met some seriously righteous people form all over the world, with a galaxy of stories and reasons.
The guy playing the didgeridoo, who stopped playing to explain how the instrument worked and the cultural implications of it.
Seeing people from last year but getting names and contact information this time.
Remembering flags for my camp on 6:30 and G, the pirate and black gadsden flag. My neighbors and others said it helped them find their camp easily. The flimsy, flexible, telescoping portable flag pole held up wonderfully.
The Alaskan kids across 6:30 from me. They "fished" with a plushy toy, which they picked up as moop. They were also MOOP warriors.
The wonderful Australian girl who invited me to the impromptu tea party in front of my camp in the street. She gathered a mix of people for an oddly good time. I discovered how delicious high-quality PB&J sandwiches are with cheap yellow mustard.
The army asshole who said my camp wasn't tactical (although he gets a pass because he said he woke up from a coma in Fort Hood three days before heading to BRC, he was deployed in Afghanistan when he was injured and "medically retired" with 2% disability at 20 years old. He said "what the hell am I going to do now?")
I didn't have the depression and other decompression problems as last year, unless it's going to hit me when I'm not looking. Oh dear.
No funerals on the way home, no one I knew died this time, although my mom was very close a few weeks before I left for BRC.
The surprisingly good condition of the playa and some of the roads, they were like smooth concrete with small piles of dust. Very fast with my retarded bike.
Awesome food in the commissary, like last year. I was smart enough to use two plates at once to make it count.
The people with children having a damn fine time. That warms my cold, rotting heart.
The epic, moon-scortching fireball when the man burned. I had a front row seat on the 6:00 side and was amused seeing everyone in the center scurry back, although I was screwed as my face nearly melted since I couldn't move anywhere. Add to that, the guy next to me having a good old time seriously fucked up on mushrooms.
[added:] The girl tap dancing up a storm on a table in Center Camp Cafe
[added:] Reverend Billy and the Church of Stop Shopping, although I think they now have a different name. Worse:
The condition of some of the roads and deep playa: the DEEP potholes or ripples, the bottomless soft spots.
The CREEPY old guys in Center Camp Cafe who had a seriously predatory vibe about them. Few things bother me, but those guys gave me the willies.
The weekender people across from me who argued nonstop and left all sorts of shit behind.
The asshole with the dog, which was peeing on things.
The people with the feathers
The army asshole who said my camp wasn't tactical (although he gets a pass because he said he woke up from a coma in Fort Hood three days before heading to BRC, he was deployed in Afghanistan when he was injured and "medically retired" with 2% disability at 20 years old.)