For me, Halloween is a time for renewal - as death is celebrated, you know that new stuff is lingering just around the corner ...

Hence - a snappy new header for my website. If ya don't like it - tough luck. Complain in the comments...

Also, I feel blogging-pressure today ... Both Jon and Shannon have already blogged about the Halloween party on Saturday, so there is little left to be said about that here (except that it was an awesome party, and it got pretty wild at times ...but in the interest of protecting the uninhibited drunk, I shall refrain from posting the pictures of the boobs pressed up against the glass sliding door ...heh).

I guess the only way to catch up to them now (no, outdue them - heh) is by posting some supremely funny pics - so here we go (guess who's who?):

It's a common part of life, and yet the carefree, happy, and awe-inspiring atmosphere that enshrouds and permeates Burning Man gives you the illusion it could *never* happen in this place: the death of one of our Black Rock bretheren. And yet - it did.

CBC, Canada's counterpart to PBS here in the US, is reporting that one of their own, 27-year old radio host Alexis Mazurin,
has died.

Quote:
"Mazurin had been attending the annual Burning Man art festival in Nevada's Black Rock Desert in early September when he suffered a massive heart attack. He was rushed to a hospital in Reno where he fell into a coma. He was transferred to Vancouver's St. Paul's Hospital in mid-September."

I feel an odd sense of grief and loss, although I've never met Alexis. I suppose its part of the overall mystical connection that Burning Man infuses every participant with, the way it bonds strangers to eachother, and makes you care about them beyond Black Rock desert.

So we bow our heads and take a minute to realize how brief and precious life is - even in the most awesome place on Earth.

Thanks to Kerry for the link.

As I step out of my tent door this morning, I can feel it - it's going to be a hot day today. There is barely a breeze, and the sun already bears down on Black Rock City with an unmistakable intensity.

I fix scrambled eggs for breakfast, and make chai. For some reason, even simple foods one is thoroughly accustomed to in the "Other World" taste vastly better out here on the playa. Biting into a cool green apple or a luscious strawberry becomes an event of deep pleasure, and I'm glad I stocked up on fresh fruit before coming out here. I ponder if the cause is the clean, dry environment of the desert - or the complete lack of olfactory and taste distractions. And maybe, part of the Burning Man experience just entails the heightening of one's senses...

I study the schedule for the day - "hey, today is Hump Day", the calendar of events suggests. The most amazing and surprising thing about Burning Man is no doubt the non-stop, round-the-clock offerings of things to do - put on and supplied by mostly seasoned Burners. I had no idea this was even going on, but for weeks I had been secretly wondering what the hell 40,000 people are actually doing on a flat piece of land for an entire week, 24 hours a day (aside from making art, dancing and camping). I guess the 40-page guide you get when you enter the city answers that.

There are "repeating" and "one-time" events. Between 10am and 2pm on this Wednesday, for example, I have the choice of either attending Heebeegeebee Yoga; The 2nd Annual World Naked Bike Ride; workshops on Your Energy Body; Making Wings or a Hair Hat, or - most intriguingly - I can learn how to Magically Manifest Anything. Wait a minute - I already know how to do that ... Seriously though, the choices are so vast, it makes one's mind spin.



I realize that the weather today is being extra-ordinarily merciful to me as a photographer (no wind, no dust, and blazing blue skies), and so I determine that I will try and make the most of it. I mark Lego Block City, The Naked Bike Ride (hey, where else can you see something like *that*?), the Fire Spinning Workshop and the Gold Parade (see above) in my event schedule as possibly interesting photo subjects. It pains my soul however knowing that I'm going to miss the Extraterrestrial Conference (Topic: Discussing the plight of humans, and how the aliens can help save us from ourselves), and the Mutant Vehicle Social. Oh, well. I guess you just can't do and see everything ... Things are further complicated by the fact that I left my watch at home (I thought I was being clever ...), and really have no clue what time it is at any point in the day - and so I'm resigned to drift through time and space at my confused whim. Darn.

Plus, not having a real costume at my disposal makes me feel quite awkward out here. Luckily however, there is help for Newbies like me - the good people from the Costume Exchange at Esplanade and 8 o'clock. Mostly costume designers from the L.A. movie industry, they have access to large amounts of used and new outfits, and have taken it upon themselves to put everyone not actually owning a proper costume into one. It's a sort of a ... citizen service.


(see? That's what I mean by being "properly costumed" ...)

The large golden dome shimmers in the desert heat as I pull up to it on my bike. Inside, large boxes and rudimentary hangers display a chaotic array of outfits ranging from the bizarre (no, I don't think I want to look like Julie Andrews in "The Sound of Music", thank you), to the impossible (not even Kate Moss could fit into that - not to mention *me*). After a while of rummaging I do come across a pair of cool black bat wings however - and since this is a "trade" establishment, but I don't have any goodies on me, I opt for hugging the nice man at the door. Which seems to satisfy him just fine as trade for the wings.



I strap the wings to the back of my bike, and decide to explore this part of town with my camera a bit. I come across the "Titty-Totter" - an oversized Teeter-Totter that offers its fun services to mostly topless girls for the general amusement of the crowd. An admiring throng has gathered to watch the latest installment of two gorgeous Asian girls, wearing only bikini bottoms, enthusiastically straddling the machine. As they ride it up and down, hollering and laughing, some innocent kid decides to aim his digi-cam at the scene. Instantly, one of the girls yells at him: Hey! You can take a picture - but if I find it on the internet somewhere, I *will* hunt you down! The crowd roars with laughter, and the poor kid retreats blushing.

I float and drift through the streets, through this most incredible array of absurd camp sites, insane art cars, and bizarrely-dressed people, marveling at the relentless outpouring of human creativity onto the blank desert canvas. A guy at a lemonade stand gives me a refreshing drink, and a girl in a see-through dress lets me photograph the tattoo on her back. As I inquire about the female figure in her tattoo, she jokes "This way, I always have my bitch on my back".



I remember seeing another public service place, the "Astral Hairwash", half a block down the road from my camp. Being that my hair is still infused with playa dust from that storm on Day 1, I figure that it couldn't hurt to check the place out. Like in a real salon, you have to sign up and wait your turn. So I settle in, and leafing through a magazine, I wait for my name to be called. With water such a precious commodity in this desert (and a well-functioning evaporation pond being equally rare), the Astral Hairwash is a popular place - and a very special treat. While laying on the slanted plywood guerney, a volunteer wets my hair, drizzles aromatic shampoo on it and begins a slow and soothing ritual so relaxing, that I momentarily drift off into a most pleasant nap ...

I know anybody younger than 33 and older than 36 will sneer, snicker and and ridicule me for this - but they only do it because they don't understand.

Only people who experienced the glory years of Prince (or the "Artist formerly known as Prince" - oh, and now Prince again) truly understand. For he is, has been, and always will be the music industry's one and only Rhythm Master.



Don't believe me? Watch Purple Rain. I happened to catch it yesterday on HBO, and it left me in awe again. Ok, maybe not in awe - but I'm listening to the soundtrack as I type this, and my feet and legs are independently moving from my body. And against my will, I must add. Such is the lure of Prince's infectious beats and melodies that you simply cannot just sit there and listen. You have to MOVE. And if you can listen to "Let's go crazy" and not feel strangely compelled to shake your booty, you're either dead or deaf.

Admittedly, the movie itself is closer to "aweful" than "awe", but let's face it - the story, directing, or even acting doesn't matter here. It's about the music, and his Highness himself. And if you subtract the strange one-sided hairdo, the ruffle shirt, and the heavy mascara you're left with one HOT guy. In 1984 anyway.

For the sake of full disclosure however I have to add that I've actually seen Prince live on stage (yes, I paid for the ticket myself). I can't remember which tour he was on, but it was the late 80s, he was already past his peak of popularity, and the outdoor stadium in Switzerland that usually held about 50,000 people was only about 3/4 full.

Yes, he's surprisingly short. Yes, he was wearing at least 5-inch heels. And not even the generous dump of free condoms a rented airplane showered on the crowd could appease die-hard fans of the disappointing fact that the concert was only 45 minutes long.

Yet, those 45 minutes were musical bliss. That little man can play the guitar like nobody's business. The 20-minute custom rendition of "Purple Rain" was exquisite and unforgettable. I don't think I stopped moving my body once for the entire length of the concert - and not because I didn't want to. It was literally beyond my control. And the experience was quite beyond words.

16 years later though I can attest to the fact that no matter what has happened to Prince, or what will happen to him in the future, musically - he's a genius, and has a sense of rhythm quite like no other musician out there.

If you don't believe me, just listen to the Purple Rain soundtrack, and you'll understand.