Art and the Burning Man

“How was Burning Man?” my friend, Dennis asked.

Burning man? That esoteric event that draws thousands of artists to the Black Rock Desert every year? People who attend say they return with a renewed sense of creative spirit. Was I emanating an ethereal glow that my friend picked up on? I had to find out.

“I might have been to Burning Man,” I said coyly, “Why do you ask?”

“Your car,” he told me. “Looks like it’s been through playa dust.”

So much for an ethereal glow…

“As a matter of fact, I was at the burning man,” I lied. Better to make him think that I did something bold and adventurous than to admit that I didn’t like to wash my car. “And I had a great time! The best part was when we burned the man!” I hoped I was right about that and it wasn’t some metaphor for something completely different where nobody got burned except for those who spent money on a ticket.

“You weren’t there, were you?” Dennis asked.

“No,” I admitted. I wondered what gave me away. Maybe it was my pronunciation. I remember how my son used to correct me when I mis-pronounced the cartoon character Pokemon as, Pokey-man.

“It’s Poke-MON,” he’d say, irritated. I never said it right.

So, that was probably it. I was just pronouncing it wrong.

“I’m thinking of going to The Burning Mon next year,” I said. “Since the car is already dirty.”

Of course this is a huge lie. I’d sooner stick pins in my eyes, than set up camp  in the desert, where I would need to rely on my memory of Girl Scout camp to survive. I remember a lot of singing, and somebody else always building the camp fire. I would last about an hour. So, by using the clever phrase, “I’m thinking about going,” I give the impression that I’m totally hip-enough to want to go, but there’s always the chance that something better could come up, like a hotel room.

“Did I mention how much I love playa dust?” Oooops… should have quit while I was ahead.  I mean, who–besides me–loves playa dust?

“Well, if you’re thinking about going next year,” Dennis said, “You’ll want to keep in mind the price. Most burners, plan ahead and budget for it.”

So, apparently it’s not enough to simply have a dirty car, I have to budget for it?

“Yeah, tickets run around three hundred bucks.”

“That’s a fair price,” I said, “I mean, you can’t sleep in your car for nothing.”

“You’re not even thinking about going, are you?” Dennis asked.

“No.”

In the end I just decided it was best to come clean. “I’m saving my money to get a tattoo of a Chihuahua. Do you have any idea how much that will cost?”

With one little rhetorical question I’ve not only stopped the inquisition, but I’ve also given the impression that I’m hip enough to think about going to The Burning Mon and get an awesome tattoo.

“Tattoos can be expensive,” Dennis said.

“Yeah, I know!” I told him. “But it will be so worth it! The Chihuahua will symbolize my love for art, the universe, and little barky-dogs.”

“That’s going to cost you a few hundred bucks,” Dennis told me. “Just for the  Chihuahua’s head. If you want the whole body, you’ll have to come up with more cash.”

“Ok, then!” I said. Maybe I’ll wash my car and call it a day.