August 23, 2007
Black Rock City, NV
This writer practiced swinging the golf club at Gate the other night when it was slow, trying to learn some baton-like tricks with which to impress the new arrivals as they roll onto the Black Rock before we poke through all their stuff for stowaways.
So then, coming onto shift the next day, a co-worker told us an anonymous ticketholder wanted him to pass the message along that we needed something more menacing to swing in the rows. So he left this for us:
Best playa gift EVER. Everyone’s jealous of it. We all wish it could talk, to tell the stories of what all it’s whomped up on in the past. It’s got spikes on one end of it and a brass knocker-out-er thinger on the other.
We taped it up with electrical tape for better swinging, and dubbed it the “Sexy Bat,” in honor of the Justin Timberlake song which Thirteen (the head lane frau) plays over and over on a jambox she hoists onto her shoulder and struts around with everywhere when she’s not working.
Spider found about 1200 different mashups involving “Sexy Back” and, during the slow time of the night, played them intermittently over the Gate channel on the radios for like 20 minutes straight.
On the nerdy side, Heidi says we are a natural-born searcher. Spider wanted us to train to figure out how to search the really long semi trucks when they come into Burning Man all packed full of crap, and training consisted of this:
Get on up there and climb in the back of the rig with your Lil’ Partner (the golf club) and poke around for hippies and kittens and guns and live plants and whatever else isn’t allowed.
So for the rest of the day, this was our job by default. Apparently being bi-departmental and in shape makes us the Gate monkey. We’re now covered in bruises and scratches.
Also, Thirteen kicked us in the face accidentally the other night when she was bloodying her manager’s nose in a good-natured, rolling-around-in-playa-dust wrestling match, and now our lip is cracked and swollen, and pardon us for sounding like a hippie but so far this is really the best Burning Man we’ve ever had and it’s four days away from even beginning.
Two birthdays were celebrated at the Black Hole (Gate camp) last night. Spider taped a semi-expensive bottle of whiskey to one birthday girl’s hand with electrical tape and threw the cap away, and kept making her drink it when he saw she wasn’t actively drinking. The other birthday boy got the traditional DPW/Gate-style “Happy Birthday” singalong that sounds more like a chorus of drunks going RAAAAAA.
Rolling around in Matt’s car makes up for every other nerdy moment ever endured in any of our lifetimes. If [insert name here] could see us now, riding in THIS.
But we all really wish Matty was here. We had a Gate meeting where we all said our name and told our totem animal (mine is a mastodon), and the meeting ran so long we forgot we were going to go prank the DPW ghetto by pretending we didn’t know Ladies’ Night wasn’t on Wednesday, and dressing up in drag and invading their camp. (Who ever heard of staph meetings so fun you forget to go do pranks.)
The traditional Ranger party last night was nice and tame and square and that’s what the Rangers are for. They take care of your body while your mind is away and deal with almost everything that sucks. Sam X and Dylan played accordion and flute for them and we had an Elvish hoe-down and then went cruising.
Everyone went to sleep early but we’re in charge of the most beautiful car ever and we can sleep when we’re dead.
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