Every year, over 50,000 people gather in the middle of the Nevada desert for a week of radical self expression, all night dance raves and ummm, well, (the most popular explanation) “if you haven’t been, you just wouldn’t understand…there are no words.” I think there are words, but you must have left them on the playa with the rest of your clothing.
Now, I am not a Burning Man hater. I would love to go and experience the social experiment that has seemingly overcome this city. But the burners just set themselves up for McCloskey-sarcasm that inevitably pours out of my mouth with no filter. Also, there are no brunch lines in SF during burning man, so there’s that.
So when you lob me up a softball toss like coordinating pink bootie shorts to Friday hills, I am going to laugh at you. I am going to make jokes about it being cold outside today. And I am going to take your photo. Then put it on instagram. Then probably spread it around the internet, because that is what San Franciscans do. We use the internet well.
Share via socials: