Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Let's go glamping!

Ok, I'm back and now-huh? Yeah, I've been gone for like a week and a half, thanks for noticing. Anyway, I was at Burning Man again and this is usually the part where I make you sit through blurry photos I took while out in the desert, but lucky for you my schmancy new camera had a battery life of about four minutes, so you'll only have to endure a couple.
A glowing pirate ship? At Burning Man? What will they think of next?
God dammit rich people, you ruin everything!
All in all it was pretty great this year, despite the rain, the hail, the occasional dust storms and the glamping that totally ruined Burning Man forever. Well, ruined it according to everyone that wasn't there. Yeah, glamping. It's the word glam mashed up with camping and it's used to describe the super-rich silicon valley tech people who recently made San Francisco unlivable with their out-of-control richness and who are now screwing up Burning Man for the rest of us by, well, being rich.

This, on the other hand is cricket.
That stuff I described? It's not this.
Glampers roll in with fancy RV's, private chefs, and professionally designed costumes and that just isn't cricket. Purists argue that part of the experience is sleeping in a dust-filled tent that could blow away at any moment, eating equally dust-filled packets of Indian food and stitching el-wire to a top hat you found at a thrift store. You know, so you can stand out in the ocean of thrift store top hats with el-wire. And yes, I have one too. Shut up. But by skipping all that, the glampers are kind of missing out and that sucks for them, at least in theory.

I say in theory because anyone who says they'd turn down an air conditioned RV with hot water and a full kitchen in favor of the true Burning Man experience of an alkali dust shellac and the constant threat of dehydration is a goddamn liar.
If this is what you're camping in at the burn, I hate you. Also, can I come over?
Skinny pants? Check. Beards? Check.
Google glass? Double check. 
So do glampers really ruin Burning Man for everyone else? I mean, apart from making the rest of us feel inadequate with our inferior hats? I don't know. While it's true that San Francisco is now an impenetrably expensive wasteland of over-paid hipsters who made their fortunes selling parking spaces on iPhone apps, I'm not sure that their fanciness is really a reason not to enjoy setting shit on fire in the desert. I mean fire. In the desert. C'mon. It's not like they're driving up real-estate prices at the event and besides, in the dust their expensive wardrobe is as beige and mud-caked (I mentioned the rain, right?) as everyone else's. So relax, eat some poutine and enjoy the burn.
Oh yes, poutine. I'm glad I pretended that I intrigued you with that. Let me explain. There was this camp called Midnight Poutine, and they serve poutine. At midnight.
FEMA should helicopter these guys into disaster zones to raise morale.

I'm referring of course to bilingual
gratitude. You say 'thank you' and 'merci.'
These are Canadians after all.

You're probably wondering what in the name of hell poutine is and why should you care. You see, poutine is french fries smothered in gravy and cheese curds, and you should care because poutine is french fries smothered in gravy and chesse curds. It's hot, it's salty and when someone hands you a paper dish of the stuff at 1 a.m. you get down on your knees and thank them. Properly. You know what I mean, it's that good.

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