A lot of folks who come to burning man each year, have a Themed Camp. These are camps they must build way ahead of time, for years , lit up and sand-proof, or sort of sand proof. There was the Lounge of the 7 Sins camp, where people could spin the wheel of sin, and perform that sin on stage for a flaming cocktail. There was the Bad Idea Theatre, that showed movies at night, the Barbie Death Camp, which had thousands of little Barbie Dolls marching into ovens on the lawn of their camp. There was Camp Horsecock, Camp Handjob, camp “Jesus was a dumb fuck”, A “Hard” ware shop, KFC (who gave out chicken biscuits in the morning, but only if you’d take a shot of bourbon first). There was a Tittyman Camp, an ass man camp, a “first time fister camp” ( I ended up here by accident, and was handed a bottle of lube that I thought was a bottle of hand sanitizer witch I immediately squirted all over my hands and rubbed it all over like I would sanitizer in the desert. I look back now, knowing that this must have looked like I was no first timer. They had little placemats on the bar explaining that in order to fist someone you first had to position your hand like a sock puppet (this is called the goose position), you insert this way, then make a fist, ala fisting. I hadn’t known any of this. But it ended up being my favorite camp, though I never saw any fisting there was a fellow there everyone called Dad, that kept us full of beer, and the occasional shot of vodka. I never called him dad.) Now a lot of those camps seem sex themed, and I guess in name they were, and I’m sure there was sex a plenty to be had there. But I think, more than anything those names were there to make you feel uncomfortable, to ride by and ogle, then say “fuck it, I’m going in” only to find out that there were just a bunch of people like you there, having a good time in ways most people have good times. Sure there was some fucking going on in corners everywhere, but who cares. The boobs get normal after a while, like there supposed to be there. In fact boobs ARE supposed to be there, I think, or something like that. There was a Tennis Camp, with a day-glo tennis court, and a there was a full bowling alley. There were camps with pool tables, and fully stocked bars. There were tables with signs that read ADVICE sitting out in the middle of the desert. Sometimes there was someone sitting there, sometimes there wasn’t. There was naked karaoke. I made a mental note to stop by there, and belt out Robert Goulet’s version of “My Favorite Things” from the Sound of Music. And Waldo was there. You’d see him every once and a while, walking around amidst the masses. Waldo. After , exploring for that first day, we came back before sundown, and my brother, who’d we’d lost along the way along with his buddy Ted (built like a brick shithouse, triathelete and I would learn later, not afraid of anything.) had prepared jerk lamb chops on the grill. We grabbed them by the bone, ate them and waited for the sun to go down. As I ate I saw a big weather balloon super high in the sky, right alongside the moon. I was high from the brownie, something I hadn’t been in years. High on pot brownies. I said, “Wow, I guess you can, like see another moon from here huh?”
“The earth only has one Moon” John says.
“Oh”
We couldn’t stop laughing.