Back to our roots
by S. Keith
Man, I'm sad to say, has gone to the dogs.
first started going to BM, it was a lark. Fun. Carefree. It was a cheap
vacation in an eclectic environment. Now those carefree days are gone. The
unique campsite and the colorful automobile is replaced by the Live/Work
CamperShellú, the tool of choice for displacing our neighborhoods and
gentrifying the landscape.
was a time you knew all your neighbors. Now, it just feels like we've all put
up walls-to protect our own turf. What happened to the love? What happened to
the freedom? What happened to the spirit of chance and intrigue, or is reality
as exciting as popping a Trader Joe's frozen dinner in the Live/Work microwave?
tell you. It's all these carpetbaggers from Seattle and Portland and San Jose
and San Diego, spending their stock options on decked-out blowfish dwellings.
I, as a good recycler, activist, and former North Face customer who pays the
bills as a copy editor for a coffee-table book company, am profoundly insulted
and angered by the flatulence, snobbishness, and arrogance of those
we need to return to our roots so the right people make the energy. Perhaps
people should be screened and interviewed before they're allowed to attend
Burning Man, I don't know.
What I do
know is that we're at a crossroads ÷ one road leads us back to the utopia we
lost (perhaps the 12-mile entrance, not the 4?) and the other to a place that
looks no different from anything else in suburban America.