Or at least shut down the C.I.A. and rebuild the Justice Department from scratch! This morning, the New York Times broke the news, in a 5-or-6* page article, that the Bush administration has had internal secret documents explicitly authorizing the use of the harshest torture techniques, in blatant disregard for piles of nation and international laws, and against their own public claims. Last July, when it was leaked that the CIA had secret jails and used torture techniques, and Bush ordered that everyone be moved to Guantanamo and clean up, it was all of one month before he secretly reversed the decision.

I’m sure most of us aren’t surprised by all of this, but this is the sort of damning evidence that we were waiting for. That’s it– Bush can pack his bags. You don’t go around authorizing the use of torture when we tell you not to! The game is up.

* The article was 6 pages when I started reading it, then they dropped a page out from under me. And the article is written by a James Risen (*whee!*).

Life is good. I’m happy to be 26. I recently hired my first employee, and I’m close to hiring a web designer for DepartureWorld. I’m very busy with work, with social life, with projects, and falling behind on everything– as it should be.

Briefs:

	There have been some *great* parties recently! Thank you and for your hospitality and good times, and thank you everyone who came to my gatherings!
	My parents helped me move Api, my turtle of 15 years, to Cambridge (he might be older than me). After the traumatic move, he’s now contently swimming around my dining room.
	FYI, I’m back to locking my window. Some couch surfers stayed at my place Friday, and then used my window when they couldn’t get in touch with me Saturday. I’m glad they weren’t stuck outside, but that’s my limit.
	I’m showing Waking Life this Tuesday, at 8 pm, in Random Hall’s Alice in Wonderland theatre (290 Mass Ave., Cambridge). This is an incredible philosophical film, and you should come watch it! I’ll bring popcorn and cookies.

A friend, in honest curiosity and caring, said in all the time we’d known each other, she didn’t understand me as a human (or something similar– I don’t want to put words in her mouth, it just got me thinking). In a way, I can’t disagree, and it hurts to know that all the work I’ve done on myself to have stronger emotions, to want and yearn and hurt more, to wear my heart closer to my wrist, to be my body, have done so little. My teacher in wisdom– an INTJ, like me– described it “a brain wearing a body”. Plato and Nietzsche convinced me that that wasn’t what I wanted to be.

I approach life with such a thrill that I forget about the other emotions. I almost never get angry or scared, and I haven’t cried in a decade. At the last Salon, we talked about Marvin Minsky’s The Emotion Machine, which claims that emotions are different ways of thinking, which give humans their versatility. My subconscious slapped me when I asked about it. “Duh! I put those other emotions there for your benefit, and in their way they’re as important as joy. Despair is as important as love for being fulfilled, staying healthy, and getting girls. Use it!”

In the past, I’ve tried championing emotions as hunches, then functions, then ideas in the cosmic consciousness, then gods. Now I’m letting them be the highest entities of which I can conceive: people. There’s now four of me (Happy, Angry, Sad, Scared) running around my head, jostling for control. We’re letting each have a spin. I saw the world as a sinister cesspool, each of us waiting to join its doom, and the hair rose on my neck. I saw it as a maze of rats, all looking for cheese that only made them sicker, and a knot stuck in my throat. I thought of each of my friends and what I scorned them for, and mentally punched each one, until I got to , who I could find no reason to hurt (the rest of you I punched for stupid, petty reasons, but I’ll tell you if you want). And I thought about the infinite possibility of life, the wonder of love, the beauty of ideas, and how much I adored everyone I know.

I also turned my anger on myself; in my minds eye, I sized myself up, took aim, and hit myself harder than anyone else. It felt good, like the only punch worth taking is a strong one.

In counter-balance, though, I’m pulling out on spending time pursuing lovers. I heard after my after-party that a friend-of-a-friend thought of me as “that cute queen.” Am I crazy for thinking it’s all connected? I hate making people uncomfortable, and as long as I come across as a queen or a robot, I’m better off as a friend. I don’t like the intellectual’s approach of seducing with the mind, and then using the bait to switch in the body. I’d rather find a woman who wants my body for the god that it can be, and leave my mind out of it.

Ask a question anonymously you wouldn’t necessarily ask in person, or would want others to know you’re asking, to me. I’ll answer it in another entry, and you’ll have your answer without having to admit you wanted to know it. I’ll try and answer all the questions, but if they concern someone else, I reserve the right not to answer for them.

I’m turning 26 on Monday– Sexiest Age Ever!– Come help me celebrate!

Cheese and Chocolate Party

Sunday, 6pm – whenever (or earlier if you check with me)

My Pad, 283 Washington St., #1, Cambridge

We’ll have fondue and wine and drunken depravity for everyone. Bring dishes/deserts that feature chocolate or cheese (or both, like chocolate-chip pizza or cake with goat cheese frosting!).

Call me if you need directions: 617-852-9088

I’m also hosting the afterparty this Saturday, also in celebration of mals13‘s sexy birthday! Feel free to crash over.

[Edit: I forgot to say before, this is *Sunday* evening! Be there!]

I’m still reeling from my experiences last week at Burning Man. Burning Man is without rival the most incredible event I’ve ever attended. Below is just a smattering of what happened. Some of the photos below are mine; most are claud334’s (I was there for a lot of them, but my camera wasn’t).

9/10ths of the Work, or, Getting There

I decided to go a couple weeks ago, grabbing tickets without knowing how I was getting there or how to find my camp when I did. I eventually found a ride from Reno on Craigslist, and cheap overnight bus tickets to Reno from San Francisco. I left for San Francisco Wednesday (halfway through the Burn) mid-day, with a quick goodbye to my clients, a brief bag pickup from my apartment, and a taxi to the airport.

At my stopover in Chicago, I got a message that my ride had a family emergency and couldn’t come. I desperately called my previously rejected ride options– no luck. So, after a brief visit in SF, I arrived in Reno, and made a hitching sign and waited around the airport. Along came three crazy looking individuals with seaweed dresses and hair falls and a huge Alice in Wonderland hat. I said, “Hey, are you headed to Burning Man?” “Yeah, and we’re looking for riders!” We picked up a Cog. Sci. woman reading a book on DMT and set off.

We arrived to the event in the middle of a dust storm, and for a while couldn’t see a foot in front of the car. I directed them to the intersection the map said my camp was near, and pulled my stuff into a nearby tent so they could go in search of their own camps. After a couple hours of walking around in airport sunglasses while the dust storm raged, asking if any knew of my camp, I found references to “Oracles” at Center Camp who could tell me. So I made my way there where I got my first real dose of Burning Man, bare-breasted singing massage beading coffee lounging dancing.

The Oracle read me the camp’s self-submitted description and directed me to the big map. As I was walking away, he called out– “And it also says here that they’re part of the Hive, so try there.”

The Hive is the greater-MIT/Boston camp-of-camps. The info worker used the word like you say the name of a sleeping god, a symbol which has lost the awe of its achievements, but not the awe of its being. It was the first camp-of-camps, and it’s right on the Esplanade, front row center to the action.

I went to the spot where the camp should have been. There was a little sign there: “This space intentionally left blank.” So I went to the Hive, asked around and found my friends, and shuttled stuff in. Later that night, I chewed some acid and went out to party. I lost my friends almost immediately, and wandered Burning Man, visiting dance domes and fire shows and roaming parties and laying on piles of pillows. And especially making seductive advances on the moon.

The Burn, or, the Best Game Town

Burning Man is 40000 of the best and freakiest artists, students, and wackos you’ve ever met, coming to the middle of the desert to party, and do art, chemicals, each other, and more art. They’re dressed in wild costumes and home-made dresses, hats blinking, neon glowing, fire twirling. That is, when they’re dressed at all– lots of bare-breasted women, and a fair number of bare-it-all guys. Everyone brings to the party what they can to share– glowsticks, chemicals, fire, food, art, domes– and then we take every trace away at the end of the week, turning Black Rock City back into a featureless desert.

About half of Black Rock City is camps, of which hundreds have people hanging out or partying day and night. On the edges are huge domes and stages and crazier venues. One of the huge dance domes, throbbing with house and strobes, was connected to a smaller 60 ft. diameter “lounge dome”, which had orgy beds and couches all around the perimeter, bathed in purple light and diffracted roaming green lasers.

The area is so huge it would take an hour just to walk across, so everyone brings bikes, and pimp them out with lights and feathers and contraptions. Hundreds of “art cars” roam around the desert, from cupcakes just big enough for one person to three-story pirate ships with sound systems to rival the gigantic domes. My first night, I jumped on an art car that was like a bar surrounded by pink and purple fur-covered swivel chairs, except everyone was laying on top of the bar.

The art cars are parties on wheels, going from one party to another, or stopping in the middle of nowhere to dance. Outside of the camps there are hundreds of art installations and huge structures. There was a jungle-gym metal flower, giant children’s letter blocks, human-powered strobe monkeys, and a trebuchet that launched flaming pianos. I expected the Man, the centerpiece of all this madness, to be surrounded by commercial gigs, and I found him in a forest of art trees.

In fact, there’s no commerce at all. If you’re caught selling anything, you’re thrown out. Everything is a gift. And it’s all part of the incredible radical self-reliance vibe of the whole event. During the day, there’s a non-stop Daily Confusion-style calendar of activities: Shaman Trancedance, Adult Diaper Parade, Catholic Schoolgirl Party, Orgasmic Vegan Sushi Dinner. I tried to go to a First Timer’s Sex Orgy, but I was off by a day.

The nights are so beautiful. The wind stops, the air cools, and the people put on their lights and party until the sun comes up. One night there was a thousand-person lightsabre battle raging around the Man. From the middle of the desert, all you can see is a roaring fiery scatter on the horizon, of people, domes, and art cars.

The finales are huge. A circle of hundreds of firedancers and drummers, and fireworks better than Boston’s, hailed the burning of the Man. An 8 story oil rig that held parties every night on its top was engulfed by 900 gallons of jet fuel. The Temple of Forgiveness was the most beautiful wooden structure I’ve ever seen, and like a sand mandala, it disappeared in an hour.

Afterburn, or, Until Next Time

A couple friends came in on BioTour, the vegetable-powered bus, and suggested I try to get a ride out on it. The lead guy, Ethan, apologized and said he couldn’t take me, so I made a sign for San Francisco, shouldered my bags, and headed to the exit. The bus passed me, but soon hit the 4 traffic jam. I passed it, and took up a spot to hitch a ride. An hour later, the bus passed me again. And stopped. And offered me a ride. So cool!

They dropped us off near Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco. We spent my last day hanging out there, getting high in the Haight-Ashbury park, and eating some good Mexican and Indian food. And then some potheads followed me home. I wonder if I should keep them.

A friend asked me what I’d learned from Burning Man. I didn’t have a good answer at the time, and now that I do, it won’t fit in this margin. But maybe that’ll be another post.

Next year, I want to get you to come with me! We can form a camp, set up our own scene. If we get enough people, maybe we can even make an art car. I’m going to be much better equipped, and I can help all of you be similarly prepared. And I’m going to do an art installation. And I need to learn to juggle fire.

As long as they change next year’s theme (*sticks tongue out*). Join me in emailing the BRC LLC and telling them to change it!

I just got back from Burning Man this morning, and I’m reeling from how much fun I had. Burning Man is perhaps the most intense party, the most immersive art show, and the most awe-inspiring community I’ve ever encountered. I have so much to say about it, but it’ll have to wait until later.

Second, I want to start a commune! As in, I want to try to find people and a place in the next month or two, and I already have two people to join me. The principles of said commune still need to be determined, but it would include green living, collective activities, and communal ownership.

And I’ve decided that I want an artist. I think she lives in San Francisco, and I’m pretty sure she attends Burning Man. So sooner or later, I need to go find her.

You aren’t supposed to hit on your job colleagues. It jostles the carefully de-emotionalized relationships that are necessary for working together. But I recently realized: that’s not true for independent consultants, like me. We’re the suave James Bonds of the working world: waltzing in and lifting skirts is all part of doing the job. Why, hiring an independent consultant is practically an invitation for him to practice his slick moves on any good-looking employees.

Musings about a long swim

Mountains have erupted, oceans dried, and rodent-like pincushions floated away since last I posted. I got back from Pennsic a week ago, and I’m leaving for Burning Man a week hence (just bought tickets!!!). There is too much; let me sum up.

• I got a contract gig at Harmonix, makers of Guitar Hero, doing cool speech- and audio-analysis for their new game, which looks *really* cool. If you’re into that sort of thing. I’m working on-site, surrounded by some of most competent coders I’ve had the pleasure to work with, fed dinner nightly, and inundated with all the IBC soda I can eat. It’s a really nice break from my normal free-wheeling lifestyle.
• I scrambled to put my swan ride and ugly duckling tunic (among other fowl things) in a row for Pennsic the week before leaving. Good times.
• Pennsic was glorious, and I fell in love with the SCA for the dozenth time. I had expected to tag on ‘s toga tails, but got so caught up in my own camp and dancing the week away that I only got to two big parties (Men without Pants and Ladies Night).
• I wrangled plans so I could attend the birthday party and vegetarian potluck of two of my most luscious and provocative friends, and andelsky. The associated Rocky after-party was perfect, the potluck was delicious, and the party sequel was the best time I’ve had in months.
• Since returning, I’ve been busy with friends about every night, with plenty more people to get together with on my todo list. Around the edges, I practiced my Napoleon Dynamite dance trixie (I didn’t perform it as well as I practiced it, but it was fun learning the dance), and the Crim role.
• Now I’m scrambling to find my marbles for Burning Man.

I have some great musings to post, but I need to back at work at the crack of 10, and the traffic those four blocks can be grueling.

I’ve been working on my preshow pitches for Halloween. An artist friend at Rocky criticized my preshows as cliche, but wouldn’t say how except that we’d used their ingredients before. But I respect her opinion, so I tried to figure it out myself.

Preshows are a window into the soul. The range of possibilities that we can conceive of for a song reflect our own limitations. What we weave out of the songs– the emotional and contextual content that we “hear” tying the words together– invariably reflects our deepest fascinations.

Since I try to avoid orchestrating my known obsessions into preshows, it’s fun to try to figure out what’s left over (my unknown obsessions). And with three halloween pitches in evidence, I figured out a couple of my preshow-writing flaws. One, I have an addiction to sex and death, and yet the best preshows I’ve seen have neither. Two, I’m too concentrated on plot, but the best preshows rarely more than one “event”.

Preshow writing is an art, and I’m an engineer, not an artist. I’m used to making 30 different things happen at once, and considering sex and death as being as easy as character development. Anyway, I went through my preshows with these flakes of wisdom, reworking things as much as needed, and I think they’re much improved.

I’d love to hear your comments! Below are my old and new pitches. I’m dropping The Shame of Life preshow, for now (it needs a lot of work, and was designed to be too tied to my obsessions). Maybe that will leave me time to write a funny preshow.

• Korn – Freak on a Leash: MP3 Audio, Version 1, Version 2
  (I removed the judge scene, increased the profile of the prison leader, the breakout plot, and the girl)

• White Zombie – Grease Paint and Monkey Brains: MP3 Audio, Version 1, Version 2
  (Changed it into a Labyrinth inspired story with more pedophilia, as David Bowie and his sex goblins turn the child)

• We Are Scientists – Cash Cow: MP3 Audio, Version 1, Version 2
  (More details and less necrophilia; there’s time for the secretary to interact with the wife and for a angle/devil gunpoint stand-off)

luvrentboy and elctric_mayhem have been incredibly good with advice, much of which I still need to work in! I hope to get their blow-by-blow suggestions, if the preshows are chosen to go up.

I love summer rain!