Monkey Diaries Archive

My friend Angela just got back from Burning Man. She took this picture, and many others, over the last week, somewhere on God's Green Acre, which is a polite way of saying Middle of Fucking, Nowhere, USA. Personally, when I go camping, I like to avoid large, pharmacuetically enhanced mobs of people. In fact, as a general rule, I hate people and when you mix dirt, illicit substances and generally accepted chaos as the order of the day, then we're no better than the animals. Can you imagine 30K people just running amok out in the middle of the desert? The most conservative people on the planet will regress to little more than monkey's given the slightest opportunity like Burning Man. I'm not knocking it mind you but I have no desire to mingle with the great unwashed! Most of you are familiar with my stance on body odor, why would I subject myself to thirty-fucking-thousand granola-eating, patchouli loving dotcommers with more money than brains or deoderant? I've seen the pictures. I've heard the stories and count me out. If I ever get the urge to roll around in mud, take a couple of tabs of ecstasy and run around naked, I can do so in the privacy of a spa in Calistoga or hell, even in my parents backyard back in Podunk without worrying about whether or not I'll be able to get all that sand out of the crack of my ass. Set up a week long celebration of surfing and string bikinis down on K38 in Mexico and I'll be the first to sign up and bring a hundred kilo parcel of the best pot money can smuggle over the border. Ask me to go hang out with a bunch of era-dyslexic hippie-wannabes and the answer will always be no thank you.