New York vs. Burning Man )'(
Who thought this was a good idea
August is a special time of year when 70,000 of the world’s scariest people pack up and go to Burning Man for a week, and this year, the author of Rat Report was one of them.
But how can this be? you must be asking yourself. The author doesn’t seem like a Burning Man person!
Well this year, the author was coerced by his friends (recall the debauched veterinarian who ate a sandwich he found in the subway) to attend.
“The key to Burning Man is stocking up on canned fish,” he told me while leading me through the aisles of a Walmart in Reno.
He began filling his basket with cans of tuna while I, seeking more variety, grabbed a few cans of ‘Salmon Filet with Mixed Vegetables.’
“Oooh,” he crooned, peering into my basket. “You’re going for the fancy stuff!”
For dessert he bought a few cans of smoked oysters - a delicacy, he assured me.
Once we had stocked up on the necessary provisions we drove out to the desert to get in the Burning Man line. The line opened at midnight and we spent the next seven hours inching through the dusty night in stop-and-go traffic.
When we finally reached the front of the line at 7 am, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Just as the sun was coming up over the mountains, I caught my first glimpse of a sprawling metropolis made of tarps and garbage that stretched as far as the eye could see. This temporary shanty town in the desert, or “Black Rock City,” as the Burners know it, was hastily constructed to house tens of thousands of people for a few days, and would completely disappear just as quickly when it was time for everyone to go home.
But as we drove through the streets we noticed that the entire city was in disarray. A powerful dust storm had ravaged the area while we had been waiting in line, blowing away or destroying most of the tarp shelters.
It was early, and the Burners were beginning to stir. They could be seen emerging from lopsided tents or crawling out from under what remained of their crude tarp dwellings, taking stock of the wreckage.
Not even the fabled “orgy dome” was spared from the storm’s wrath.
The once-proud orgy dome had been reduced to a pile of dusty rubble. A sign nearby read “Orgy Dome Closed.”
It was probably for the best; the last thing we needed was a dome full of unwashed Burning Man people having a drug-fueled orgy and spawning strains of bacteria that don’t even exist yet. It is my personal belief that the next great pandemic will originate not in a secret lab or an open-air market, but rather in the orgy dome at Burning Man.
After assessing the state of their leveled city, the Burners got to work collecting wayward tarps and repairing their structures. By the next day Black Rock City had been restored to what I’m told was its former glory, even though it all still looked like storm debris to me.
Exploring the twists and turns of the tarp city was an incredible experience, but it was the inhabitants of Black Rock City that really made the place special. I met several wonderful people, from complete strangers to members of my camp, who kept the experience interesting.
One night, a member of our camp drew this picture to try to explain the drugs he was on.
We weren’t sure what any of this means but he was having a crazy time.
Another member of our camp took the same drugs and spent the next eight hours curled up in a ball.
When we finally coaxed him out of his tent at 4 am with a grilled cheese he emerged, wide-eyed and disheveled, to inform us that he had spent the past several hours talking to a “big, ugly… military toad.”
I don’t know what that means so I asked AI to generate an image.
A different day, a man walked by our camp and asked where the nearest restrooms were.
“Right down there,” I told him, pointing to a bank of porta potties down the road, “but they’re all out of hand sanitizer.”
“That’s okay,” the man replied, “I’m just looking for somewhere to fuck this guy I just met.”
After a week of use, the porta potties weren’t the most romantic option, but they were conveniently located every couple blocks.
After sitting in the dirt and using restrooms like these for a week, one begins to yearn for a shower.
“Is there anywhere to shower here?” I asked my friend.
“I know just the thing,” he replied through a mouthful of smoked oysters. “Follow me.”
I followed him to a sort of “human carwash” where everybody gets naked and walks into a box where they get hosed down with soap and water. After getting rinsed off, everybody exits into a nude dance party to air dry, thrilled to finally be clean for the first time in days (or, judging by the looks of some of them, the first time all year).
I felt as though this “human carwash” was my unofficial baptism into Burning Man life, with the soap and water rinsing away whatever shreds of decency I still clung to, as I relinquished my hopes of returning to a civilized life and fully embraced my transformation into a disgusting desert person.
I had been born again as a Burner.
Hold on, Jake, you might be thinking to yourself. Rat Report is supposed to be about New York City!
First of all, please know that I now only respond to my playa name: Rat Bait.
Second of all, you’re right, so I’ve decided to compare and contrast Burning Man with New York.
Similarities
Dirty
Bottles of urine strewn about
Depraved men having sex in porta potties
Key Differences
Dust storms where all the structures fly away
Giant wooden “man” statue that is set ablaze
Only one person got murdered
Burning Man is a fun adventure that will completely transform you, for better or for worse (usually worse). Sure, some parts of Burning Man could be improved, like porta potties filled with muck, orgy dome super bacteria, and some intolerable characters that make you wonder how only one murder took place all week. But for all its imperfections, I met some great people and had a lot of fun.
Until next year’s Burning Man, xoxo,
Rat Bait
That anyone would think this sounds fun explains why our society has gone to the dogs. Unreal.