In most of these United States, that's all that gets married today too.
I'm betting Pinko ran across some ecstasy somewhere along the way because he went from being a politically conservative business major at UT to DJ-ing in Dallas, then to Officer Training for the Navy in Hawaii and has wound up in Socialist working groups and driving a cab in Reno. I think he's in Reno helping with aging and infirm family members.
He's still a DJ and posts his mix tapes, if that's what you call them these days, here: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/djabear-blog-talk-radio-feed/id428694015
I even listen to them myself when I'm in the mood for something besides Talking Heads and the B52s.
The first time I noticed how much I like Pinko was when we were both up in the night and he posted the video of the drunk Canadian singing Bohemian Rhapsody in the back of a police car which became so popular on youtube that you can't find a decent version anymore on account of random people have doctored it up so much. Neither Pinko nor I were strictly sober and we shared a virtual laugh together which always felt to me like combining consciousness on a cosmic level. Our favorite part was at the very end, when the young man said, "Physical violence is the least of my priorities," at about 6:05
That was more than a year ago, and in the meantime, Pinko and I have participated in several FB threads about the challenges of dating at a certain age. He's looking for a woman who is as Red as he is - my requirements may be more stringent.
Pinko shows great tact and understanding in political discussions and can explain anarchism as well as anyone. This time of year, his attention turns to Burning Man. He's gone so many times that he's become part of the larger community on The Playa. I think he and some friends set up an all night bar on the Playa. Or something like that anyway. It's all very intriguing, and I'm tempted to go.
Given that my mother sounded alarmed when she heard that I went downtown by myself to see a dear family friend play guitar in a bar, and I was home by 10:00 - I'm pretty sure that I'm not allowed to go to Burning Man by myself. When I was in college and wanted to drive home for the holidays, my father used to fly up to Dallas or Austin and ride back with me so I wouldn't be alone on the road. Mother was convinced that some unscrupulous redneck would run me off the road, use me brutally and then either (1) leave me lying in a ditch or (2) sell me into white slavery. Lots of people think that's extreme on my mother's part, but when you consider that bad people are probably in the Mall of America right this very minute tricking young people into becoming sex slaves, it's not so far fetched. Human trafficking is big business (Info at Polaris Project).
Pinko might agree to keep a watchful eye on me like he did the other night when he drove a rowdy group of females around Reno in a van proudly labeled Vagina Wagon. It was a bachelorette party. Even still, my mother would probably want to meet Pinko, and since that isn't happening, my father would very likely spend $25 on a background check. One thing is sure: My mother will say that I'm absolutely not allowed to go to Burning Man by myself.
So it's a good thing my cousin in Lake Tahoe wants to come too.
I haven't seen her since I went out to Tahoe to visit Granny the Ho some years ago. Granny's been dead for five years now, so I must have been in Tahoe in 2006 right after I got thrown off the horse but before I had to have surgery on my shoulder. The time I saw my cousin's shaman friend and got my DNA activated. Pamela had just had her DNA activated too.
Good times. Her birthday is two weeks before mine, and we're remarkably similar. She hasn't ever been to Burning Man either, and we share a similar skepticism about facilities without room service.
There may not even be bathrooms on the Playa.
There are free pee funnels, however, which are apparently dispensed at Pee Funnel Camp
I suppose I have a lot to learn before I get to Black Rock City. Meanwhile, I have to get some comfortable, stylish summer boots, googles, some sort of practical yet sexy outfit that involves corseting, and maybe a new sun hat.
Another Meanwhile is that my most excellent buddy, ML, who hails from Pennsyltucky, is going to be a marshall for the Sirens in the Pride Parade. She may even be the head marshall since she's been a marshall a few times. I was a marshall myself years ago - it may have been right before I got thrown off that dang horse. As it happens, I was holding the Sirens Motorcycle Club banner with ML, going down Fifth Avenue and Buzz Kill took my picture with all the lesbians. He made copies and sent them to Velvet up at camp. I suspect it made Buzz Kill feel better to think I had been converted by the lesbians even though nothing could be further from the truth.
|Random photos from the Internet of The Sirens, formerly known as Dykes on Bikes.|
Don't know why they changed the name