The Fuse is Lit
June/05/2009 Filed in: getting
ready
With less than 100 days until the Burn
-- 92 days, 1 hour and 43 minutes to be exact -- I wonder to myself
how I am preparing myself for that explosion of madness, creativity
and life-loving fun that awaits me.
Last weekend, one of my alter-egos was called upon to DJ a party up in the mountains, following up a concert that was the world-wide debut of a husband-wife musical duo known as The Raven and the Hawk (and they each performed solo too, as Violet Modestly and Alexander Beetroot). Since I was pretty tired from the work week, I couldn't make it, but my alter-ego showed up in fine form, even though DJ he had to borrow a wig.
Last weekend, one of my alter-egos was called upon to DJ a party up in the mountains, following up a concert that was the world-wide debut of a husband-wife musical duo known as The Raven and the Hawk (and they each performed solo too, as Violet Modestly and Alexander Beetroot). Since I was pretty tired from the work week, I couldn't make it, but my alter-ego showed up in fine form, even though DJ he had to borrow a wig.
The scene was a staff party of sorts,
definitely after hours, in an outdoor learning shelter in the North
Cascades that is usually full of rambunctious 4th graders. The
freaks took it over for one night of music and revelry. We were
deep in the mountains, miles away from the nearest settlement,
surrounded by deep trees and next to a creek loud with late spring
snowmelt. After the aforementioned live musical acts, DJ Fundi took
to the "stage" and plugged his macbook in to the soundsystem.
Volume up to 11. Twinkly christmas lights, creeksong, crisp night
air, a nearly-full moon and a deep selection of funk.
About 20 people were in attendance for the aftershow, accompanied by several ice-filled coolers of beer. And then the Jaegermeister bottle appeared (how many stories hinge on that plot twist???). Things get blurry pretty fast in a kaleidoscope of Jaeger shots, Beastie Boys, the dance moves my boss pulled off, James Brown, Bassnectar, live drumming accompaniment, The Commodores, a smoking instrument, Hall & Oates, candles, the Glitch Mob, Herbie Hancock, freeform space-singing and other sparkly sensations.
Bewigged, Fundi snached the empty Jaeger bottle out of his bosses hands and piched it against a nearby Douglas fir. The shattering green glass explosion brought the party to a brief pause. Rumor has it he may have spanked some ass on the dancefloor too. He chased one fellow cubicle co-worker around the shelter for a while, lost the pack of nag champa he wanted to light, danced a funky jig or two, but always managed to get behind the computer in the exact instant before the next jam needed to be dropped.
I ain't saying it was pretty, no sir. But it was what this mountain party called for, it was the job that DJ Fundi was called there to do. Nobody got hurt. The party, having started fairly early, only lasted until 1 or 2 am. DJ Fundi closed the party down by being the sole groover on the dancefloor -- only the frogs witnessed his creative interpretive-dance to Bassnectar's "Murder Mashup" (a dub track he can't get enough of).
There was a moment in the midst of the party -- and this is the whole point of me telling you this story -- when what seemed to be your standard wedding-style funk dance began to turn in to something different, something out of the ordinary, bordering downright weird. The music got louder, those committed to the dancefloor got looser, the drumming and singing and chanting began and the lights got extra-twinkly. A sense of possibility filled the air.
In this moment, DJ Fundi paused and a voice in his head asked, "Things are getting pretty far out there Fundi -- do you think you ought to pull it on back a bit?" He looked around at his co-workers shaking it on the dancefloor, scatting on the mic, groove-stepping amongst the ferns, everybody having a good time under the stars, everybody realizing a moment of glorious freedom within the confines of a M-F 9-5 lifestyle (those that weren't up to the freedom-seeking had long gone to bed).
Something about being swervy and freaky amongst those he normally sits in morning staff meetings and strategic planning sessions with, his fellow prairie dogs of the cubicle warren, made him consider if this open-ended creative path of unrestrained celebration was the right route to be headed down.
"Hell. Yes," was Fundi's reply.
Soon, the bottle was smashed, asses were spanked and the low-end on the soundsystem was pushed to its very brink. The rest is history -- or, more accurately, the rest is a collection of shards collected from the group-memory, with lots of pieces missing and an unsteady chronology. And we're all the better for it.
About 20 people were in attendance for the aftershow, accompanied by several ice-filled coolers of beer. And then the Jaegermeister bottle appeared (how many stories hinge on that plot twist???). Things get blurry pretty fast in a kaleidoscope of Jaeger shots, Beastie Boys, the dance moves my boss pulled off, James Brown, Bassnectar, live drumming accompaniment, The Commodores, a smoking instrument, Hall & Oates, candles, the Glitch Mob, Herbie Hancock, freeform space-singing and other sparkly sensations.
Bewigged, Fundi snached the empty Jaeger bottle out of his bosses hands and piched it against a nearby Douglas fir. The shattering green glass explosion brought the party to a brief pause. Rumor has it he may have spanked some ass on the dancefloor too. He chased one fellow cubicle co-worker around the shelter for a while, lost the pack of nag champa he wanted to light, danced a funky jig or two, but always managed to get behind the computer in the exact instant before the next jam needed to be dropped.
I ain't saying it was pretty, no sir. But it was what this mountain party called for, it was the job that DJ Fundi was called there to do. Nobody got hurt. The party, having started fairly early, only lasted until 1 or 2 am. DJ Fundi closed the party down by being the sole groover on the dancefloor -- only the frogs witnessed his creative interpretive-dance to Bassnectar's "Murder Mashup" (a dub track he can't get enough of).
There was a moment in the midst of the party -- and this is the whole point of me telling you this story -- when what seemed to be your standard wedding-style funk dance began to turn in to something different, something out of the ordinary, bordering downright weird. The music got louder, those committed to the dancefloor got looser, the drumming and singing and chanting began and the lights got extra-twinkly. A sense of possibility filled the air.
In this moment, DJ Fundi paused and a voice in his head asked, "Things are getting pretty far out there Fundi -- do you think you ought to pull it on back a bit?" He looked around at his co-workers shaking it on the dancefloor, scatting on the mic, groove-stepping amongst the ferns, everybody having a good time under the stars, everybody realizing a moment of glorious freedom within the confines of a M-F 9-5 lifestyle (those that weren't up to the freedom-seeking had long gone to bed).
Something about being swervy and freaky amongst those he normally sits in morning staff meetings and strategic planning sessions with, his fellow prairie dogs of the cubicle warren, made him consider if this open-ended creative path of unrestrained celebration was the right route to be headed down.
"Hell. Yes," was Fundi's reply.
Soon, the bottle was smashed, asses were spanked and the low-end on the soundsystem was pushed to its very brink. The rest is history -- or, more accurately, the rest is a collection of shards collected from the group-memory, with lots of pieces missing and an unsteady chronology. And we're all the better for it.
* *
* * * * * * *
"That moment, my friend," DJ Fundi's brother-in-arms Hekter
McElliott said upon hearing of the night's festivities, "was the
moment your fuse
was lit. At
this point, it's all about getting ready for Black Rock City, and
by the sounds of it, you're Burn started in that moment you decided
to let go and seize the party at yer little hoe-down in the woods.
Damn. You're
burning right now -- good on ya!"
And so it is folks. That's one of the things about Burning Man: it
last much longer than the obvious week on the playa. Be
brave.
--moontroll
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