I'd rather be in San Francisco

The annual event known as Burning Man has just ended. I have never been seriously tempted to go, seeing as how I generally dislike camping even in the most sylvan environments and cannot comprehend doing it in the middle of a dust cloud for a week with no running water. And every year that goes by, I get farther and farther away from being the type of person who goes to such things or ever would.

But in fact, I was never the type of person to go. I've always been bad at parties, hated costumes, and especially bad at fitting in to scenes where everyone was ever-so-cool. I have no technical knowledge to contribute to such an event, and no artistic flair. I'm just a writer.

That's not to say I don't love going to the desert, taking drugs in the desert, or hanging out with weirdo pierced alterno-gender people. But not tens of thousands of them all at once -- a situation Cris loves to characterize as a "cluster fuck." (Hyphenation optional.) Too much stimulation. For me, the whole point of going to the desert is to remove all the stimulation that assails me every day. (Bloink! Another IM just arrived.)

Not that the desert is empty or desolate (although the "playa" where Burning Man takes place reportedly is) -- it's full of life. But it's also full of silence and absent any high-speed internet connections. At least for the time being, thank God.