Fresh off our high of poorly constructed casinos and quickie divorces, we blew outta Reno like bats out of hell Reno.  We were on our way to the tiny hamlet of Empire, NV.  Nestled between imposing mountains and nowhere, Empire is famous for two things; gypsum and The Man, man. 

“The Man” aka Burning Man is a week long exercise in survival and drug consumption, interspersed with art, nudity, and oppressive heat.  I think you either dig it or you don’t.  You’ll leave there either with a passion for life that you never knew existed within you, or you’ll leave with salty desert sand encrusted on every part of your body (yes, every part) and a new found aversion to the naked male form.  Guess which one I was.  Go on, guess.

There are some super cool things about BurningMan and some wonderful people there.  If you are a person with just half an ounce of creativity, you can totally appreciate the massive structures erected in the desert and the infinite joys of people watching.  But there is a sense of wastefulness about the event.  So many people who claim to be concerned with creating a new society devoid of the rules and hang ups of society at large have essentially created the world we already live in, except without running water.  They have created a place where consumption is the norm, where objectification of women is the norm, basically, they brought the world with them instead of creating a better one.

Let me explain.  Burning Man is a live-in art festival.  A city of tents and RVs rise out of the desert and for one week, you are a resident of Black Rock City.  Your streets are alkaline salt flats, your town hall is Center Camp, your bathroom- strategically placed portapotties.  And ultimately, your mayor is you and your quest for whatever the desert feels like revealing to you.  I always thought that if the world were run by artists instead of warmongers, that we would live in a place that eradicates sex roles, believes in conservation instead of consumption, and gives all the opportunity to be exactly who they want to be without expectation.  Some of this is very true.  When the freaks are in charge, being a freak is the norm.  There is no expectation to be anything other than who you are.  That was nice, and freeing.  However, building a five story wooden structure out of perfectly usable 4×4s, only to burn it when the Gulf Coast is still in ruins makes me ill.  To have beaver eating contests (seriously) and  pole dancing lessons to further cement the idea of women as objects sucks.

I would think that people walking around naked all day would suppress the notion that bodies are something mysterious and that women are here to be leered at, but I was wrong.  While there, I heard about one assault and the constant calls of “you’re beautiful” and “you’re sexy” don’t serve anyone but the caller.  

And while it’s nice to lose yourself in the many moments of weirdeness there, there is something odd about some people’s desire to “conquer” the land and prove they can survive.  It’s not there for us to conquer, it’s there for us to enjoy and protect.  And yeah, that makes me sound like some sort of tree hugging patchouli wearer, but I’m willing to take that label for today and today only.  I’m begging all of you who may take on the Man one day; stop for a minute, look around, you are surrounded by mountains, it’s quieter than most any place you’ve been before, it’s vast and empty, ugly and beautiful at the same time, and you a part of it.  For just a few minutes take that all in before you erect your tent and fire up your generator.

I still believe that art can change the world and that artists can create a better society, I’m just not sure that the Burning Man model is the one we should follow.  The extremely high ticket prices (which pretty much sets an exclusionary tone for the whole event- “if you can’t afford the tickets and related expenses we don’t want you”), the insistence of distributing a program with scheduled events (who brings a watch to a thing like this?!) all make it hard for me to get on board.  I met some amazing people there, don’t get me wrong, some people who make this world a better place, but there was something there that rubbed me the wrong way (and it wasn’t just the polyamory camp’s human carcass wash).   It’s the Man, man.