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Sure, we talk about our eternal damnation, but how often do we just take it for granted? Far too often, I'll wager, and it's time we did something about that. Now, what are those sins, again?
- Pride ... there's a good one for a theatre themed camp. Maybe we could hold something called
Toot Your Own Horn
"You were mahvelous, dahling, simply mahvelous!" "Thanks, I'm glad you liked my performance. Which moment did you find the most real?" "It was that divine madness scene, when Hamlet scorned you and you drowned yourself". "Um, thank you ma'am, but I've never played Ophelia, and we were performing Othello tonight." "Oh, well whatever it was that you were doing dear, it was to die for. Hate to run, but I think that's my chaffeur. Ta, ta!"
Sad, but true. If you want something done right these days, you have to do it yourself. And that's why we've created this forum. Who in the theatrical community would know better how to kiss your (deleted) than you, yourself? Please, come in here and tell us why you deserve an Oscar, or an Academy Award. Don't be troubled by minor issues like whether or not any cameras were running at the time, or even whether any of this ever actually happened. Just tell us why the theatrical world basks in your radiance. Even if you've never been on stage.
A little something for the actor in all of us.
Of course, it wouldn't be about PRIDE if it wasn't a competition, and so yes, there will be two winners, chosen by me according to no discernable standard - one male and one female. The winners will acclaimed to be deities for a day, and accorded all due honors by the lesser mortals who pass through the doors of our little cafe. Naturally, all of this genuflection will prove tiring, which brings us to...
- Sloth. This idea came to me when I was in the chill dome for Xara, late one night in 2001. I was tired, and sort of crashed out on one of the cushions. It was a pleasantly strange experience, as chill spaces can be - social, but not social, in a way. Even though the dome was relatively full, it was fairly quiet, the only sound coming from a film being projected on a screen in the dome, which I think was telling the backstory for Xara. I should have stayed there for a while, but I was a little too motivated that first time out, and cut out for parts unknown - unknown even to me, that is. I had no idea of where I was going, but was sure that I needed to get there in a hurry, off to see the next sight.
But it was so tempting not to. The thought of falling asleep there, in that large, airy dome with that film in the background seemed so pleasant at that late hour, when I was so tired (and more than a little hungry). "The film was that bad", somebody at home said, when I related this. No, I'm not saying this to insult Xara or the film maker. The film wasn't boring, it's just that there was something SO relaxing about watching it, such a pleasant way to fall asleep at an hour when one's body is saying "why not?". In the moments that pass as we fall asleep, we are awake - why not make them pleasurable ones? Especially at a burn, where sleep tends to be so much an in and out kind of thing anyway, for many participants?
Come Sleep With Us!
Feeling lonely, here in the naked city? 30,000 stories, and not one of them involves you finding somebody who will sleep with you. Life's tough, that way, but your luck is about to change! We have a whole room full of people who are ready to sleep with you - and some of them MIGHT even be of the opposite sex! Come drop by our all night slumber party under the stars, sipping cool nonalcoholic spiced beverages as you fall asleep to the sound of soft electronic music, with the natural sounds of a Midwestern forest in the background, in the faint flickering light of the projector as we show silent films, both representational and nonrepresentational. Who knows what dreams might await?
If we're in the Midwest, where the summer nights tend to be mild and the summer winds relatively soft, we might set up a large mesh tent, through which the stars could literally be seen. Out West, maybe set up a darkened dome with lights on the ceiling representing the stars.
The theme for this one would be one of "relaxation". In a perfect world, we might have some people in there to offer massage for those who wanted it, but I can't promise that, yet. It all depends on who signs up, as do a lot of things. One thing that I've observed, when falling asleep with such music in the background, has been an abundance of strange dreams. Not necessarily disturbing, or even unpleasant, just strange ones, that I've remembered vividly for a few minutes after awakening, but forgotten soon afterwards, when I haven't written them down. This puts me in mind of an activity I once saw at a party here in Chicago.
Simplest thing in the world. Somebody tacked an enormous sheet of paper - we're talking something large enought to reach from floor to ceiling and along maybe about 40 feet of gallery wallspace, provided writing utensils, affixed to the wall at a number of points with chains, inviting the many partiers to contribute passages to an upcoming novel being written. One person would write a passage, breaking off, only to have it be continued by another guest. As far as I know, that novel was never published, but people had great fun writing and illustrating it - or pretending to write it one might say, looking at the mess that came out. But it got people talking to each other and involved.
In an apartment, doing this is easy, if one is willing to settle for using smaller, overlapping sheets of paper instead of using one large, hard-to-obtain sheet - one has nice, rigid walls already in place, in an environment sheltered from the elements. How does one transplant such an idea to a burn? A bit of a challenge, but those odd dreams that some will be waking up from offer a nice creative spur, something that would get people going, especially if we prime the pump by putting a few passages up first. The odd narrative that results then becomes something that people can play off of, when doing improv later in the day. But how do we do this when we're at a burn?
There are no walls in the forest or desert, and the winds will not be kind to tacked up sheets of paper. But tacked down sheets of paper might be another matter - the weight of the paper isn't tearing at the tacks or staples all day. Set a few low, temporary tables running through the tent, if we're in the Midwest, with paper affixed on top, with crayons used instead of pens. (We don't want to run the risk of somebody catching one of those in his eye, should he be rolling around in his sleep, or should he have enjoyed the "refreshments" at another camp far too well). Each night, replace the paper. While "Toot Your Own Horn" is something we'd do just once per event, the sleepover is something that we'd do every night, establishing our camp as being a comfortable place to hang around in, and meet people.
This might leave one asking how we are to get people to trust us enough for them to be willing to sleep over at our place. The answer is, by bribing them, which brings us to
- Gluttony ... This we would hold on the first night, when people were tired and hungry from their trips, and the food we brought with would be at its freshest, insuring an experience as pleasant for those dining with us as possible. This gets the good word out, encouraging more people to drop by and visit us during the rest of the event.
Dinner is Served!
You are invited to dine with us in Rumor Camp, tonight. We will be serving a filling vegetarian meal of mostly African dishes, with homemade nonalcoholic beverages accompanying it, and more food through an evening of storytelling, music and dance.
This, of course, is very subject to revision. We MIGHT be able to get people who know this music; but until they've agreed to join, we don't know that we're going to be able to do any better than recorded music. But the storytelling should be a given; it's a subbranch of acting, really, so this much I might be able to take care of, with help from people I bring in from Improv. (Scene study, by itself, isn't enough for this: part of the concept of storytelling is that the listener can ask questions, and so one does have to be able to go off one's script). Play music, and I'm sure that people will dance, but I don't want to advertise that aspect of this unless we have something memorable to share with them, say, somebody who can lead people in some sort of traditional African dance.
No promises at this time, just a little hopefulness somewhat justified by the demographics of my large hometown. If we want to do this, though, we will have to have people who get things going - and keep them going - by being up there, and inviting others to join in. Remember - our visitors are tired from their trip. They're going to be doing a lot of sitting, and if the floor empties out, the momentum is lost and people will just keep sitting. Note the rave camps.
We are probably not going to be rich enough to feed full meals to all who come, so those who come later will probably have to settle for snacks and drinks, which may seem unfair to some of them, filling them with
- Anger. Hmmm, yes, anger, maybe even the righteous anger of a protester, because we're at a burn, and we should be building a sense of solidarity with our liberal neighbors by doing our part to protect the environment.
Save the Portapotties!
Deciding to take their ground-breaking "leave no trace" philosophy to the next level, BMORG officials announced today that it was time for the uncontrolled fouling of the portapotties to end. "Really, it was just awful what people would do in there", stated Andie Grace, speaking on behalf of the organization. "One morning, you would go in and the stall was as pristine as the day it was first discovered by the early European explorers; a few hours later the bottom of it would be covered with a foul brown substance that even the playa chickens wouldn't touch. Have these people no concern for the environment?"
Participants will, henceforth, be asked to do their part to protect the fragile portapotty eco-system by purchasing the HoneyPot3000 (tm), a self-contained waste storage unit to be carried with them wherever they go. "We're very proud of the HoneyPot", said Ms.Grace. "It requires no fossil fuels to operate, has no electronic components or machine parts to break down and studies have shown that at least 9 out of 10 burners were able to use it within minutes of reading the technical manual. There have been a few complaints about the smell and occasional spillage when the lid comes loose, but as Bob Stahl so rightly said, this isn't Hedonism. We're here to rough it. We expect to see the HoneyPot3000 in operation in every camp by Tuesday and will be sending rangers by to supervise novice users to make sure that they don't make any mistakes."
The Pershing County sheriff was not available for comment.
But years have passed, and still the horror continues. Obviously, a demonstration must be held, complete with a few brief candelight vigils around the portapotty banks. Or we can find some equally worthy cause. But either way, we get to distribute literature, and be really indignant and self-righteous. Sort of. But as we know, so tragically, young idealistic protesters must someday grow up to be sold-out yuppies, so that they may fully indulge their
- Greed. You might wonder exactly how we'll manage to indulge that one, in a cash-free environment. Easily - by printing our own cash. As the founder of this travesty, I would get to be on the $1 bill, and the first few who sign up and take part seriously would, in order, appear on $2, $3 (we have to have a few of those), $5 and $10 bills. While it would be fun to have this stuff have a look fairly reminiscent of that of real money, aside from the pictures being wrong, we shouldn't count on finding a printmaker good enough to do that.
Odds are, what we'll end up with will look like monopoly money, but that's OK. The design would probably be simple - picture of the camp member in front, highly stylized rendering of The Man on the back (to the left), and of a dead buzzard on the right, with the words "In Larry We Trust" over the word "one" for the $1 bill; that kind of thing. And then, having narrowly escaped the clutches of the Treasury Department, we would open
The Bank Of BlackRock
Here you are, 2000 miles from home, you've met the love of your life here in Nevada, and you discover that she doesn't take Visa or Mastercard. What to do, what to do?
Why you drop by Black Rock City's one and only financial institution, of course: the Bank of Black Rock, set up as a courtesy to the community by Rumor Camp and the Alternative Chicago Burners. Come drop by and explain your needs to our friendly credit counselors, Vinnie and Guido, who will listen to your proposal, pretend to run a credit check, and then set up an easy payment plan for you, which we'd recommend that you pay attention to. Thanks to a recent drop in the prime lending rate, we can now offer you rates as low as 100% per day, and all we ask as collateral is your immortal soul.
You can try to raise the interest in one of our unlicensed gambling dens, or suggest some alternative repayment plan, and maybe we'll consider it. You never know.
Hey, we are from Chicago. People will be expecting to see something gangster related out of us, so why disappoint them? Let's not do this "Sopranos" style, though. Too coarse, and the Playa is filled with things that are coarse. Let's go for something a little more subtle, but only a little - not even admitting that we're playing gangsters, but hinting at it like mad. "Mafia? Never heard of it. What's that thumping sound coming from my trunk? I think it's the muffler. Anybody tell you that you're a little too curious?"
The "Bank of BlackRock" will be meeting in a WELL LIT location on the open Playa, or outside at whichever burn we're at, late at night when wearing the obligatory black suits (purchased at a local thrift store) will be a little more bearable, and significance of the obligatory black glasses is a little more obvious. The "gambling dens" will be scattered throughout the city (or burn) - we might want to coordinate by walkie talkie, or something a little more secure than that if finances allow. Simple things that don't take up a lot of room, like craps, and some board games at which side betting is encouraged - traditional African games like Mancala, mostly, sped up by setting limits on move time which get shorter as people get used to the games. Maybe a few variants on familiar Western board games, as well.
And what happens if somebody runs out of cash? She (or he) can bet other things, if "the House" agrees. Items of clothing (strip backgammon, anybody?), or an agreement to take a dare. Or, an a different note, maybe a back rub, a piece of art, whatever he has in mind. In this case, it becomes an excuse for a kind of gifting, which is what we're getting at with the "alternative forms of payment". We then have to figure out what to do with the more tangible gifts, as some of us go out to "spend them", because keeping them all really would make this start to feel like a commercial transaction, and the need to gift becomes an excuse to get out and wander, visiting other camps.
Of course we'll deny doing any of this, if "confronted", "whaddya sayin', we's a charity? Get outta here". We'll be saying this in a low voice if we know what is good for us, because naturally, this fantastic display of wealth that we've accumulated will have aroused a great deal of
- Envy. And, of course, there is Lust, to say nothing of all the prurient interest we've done NOTHING, simply nothing to satisfy at this point, sad excuse for devil worshippers that we are. We'll have to do something about that. In fact, we'll have to do something about all of that all at once, because at this point whichever festival we're at must surely be drawing toward its end.
Mass Tonight
Is Satan in control of your life? Do hatred, lust and envy consume your waking hours? Do impure thoughts drive you toward unthinkable deeds? Then join with us tonight as we offer thanks and praise to the Dark One in the Ozzy Osbourne Memorial Pavilion. (*)
The reception and hors d'oevres will be at 7, services are at 8:30, followed by a brief virgin sacrifice, drinks, conversation and dancing until dawn, and maybe a few more sacrifices if there are any volunteers.
Before you get your glands going, let's be clear that this will be PG rated. Nobody is going to be getting naked up on that altar. We're lampooning a black mass, not holding one for real.
The "virgin" being sacrificed will be a mannequin, a blow up doll or something like that, but we can have plenty of staged machinations as the actors/participants try to get each other up on that altar, the women trying to push the better looking women up to their doom out of spite, and the men, with tounges wagging, much too eager to go along with this. This is what we'll be satirising - the way in which the call for the individual to sacrifice (and be sacrificed) for the "greater good" can become a tidy excuse for indulging some less than enobling motives. By the end of the evening, though, the various scheming factions should have ended up thwarting each other sufficiently that all the mob, drooling in expectation of a spectacle of skin and blood, will be left with will be the sad hissing of deflated latex.
Unless, that is, there are actually volunteer sacrifices, in which case we'll see what we can work out.
What you've seen is not engraved in stone, it's just something that I casually thought up, and I may later replace it with something completely different. More to the point, WE might replace it with something completely different. Much as I may joke about being the camp's "dictator for life", I want this to be a real ensemble project, not a "let's pay homage to Joe's ego" party. Even if you would find that agreeable, I wouldn't, because where would the surprises in that be, for me? I leave this unfinished as a reminder that nothing here is finalized, and won't be until I have participants to hear from, and I've heard from them, and they've heard from each other.
Let's return to the main page for Rumor Camp, unless you'd rather go to the start of that page, having not been there, yet, or go back to your ring.
(*) Technically, Mr.Osbourne is not dead at the time of this writing, but he was looking really tired the last time we saw him onscreen, and hardly anybody plays Black Sabbath any more. Good enough, he gets a memorial.
And you get a few interesting songs played at low volume, while you sleep, mixed in with the electronic stuff and any recorded traditional African music we can find, the latter played more toward morning.