10-03-2016, 12:39 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-04-2016, 04:11 PM by Drunk Monk.)
Symbiosis 2016 had me feeling like Lucy in Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Last year was my first Symbiosis experience at Woodward; this year was the last as they lost the venue. So like Lucy, who couldn't return to Narnia after that installment of the series, I knew going in this would be the last time here. My two Symbiosis at Woodward were the ALPHA and the OMEGA. The venue is so wonderful, a perfect setting for such chicanery. I am very sad to lose it.
The journey started out rough. I was going in solo, riding with Zendo, a psychedelic harm reduction group that spawned out of MAPS (Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies) and Burning Man. Dr. David Smith, founder of the Haight Ashbury Free Clinic, had introduced me to the group a few years ago as a cross-org exchange, and I've been meaning to volunteer for them every since but their events coincide with RM events.
I left the Cruz around noon on Wednesday - it was Holst's birthday, so I was blaring The Planets as I cut over the mountains, and then my lunch burrito went sour on me, demanding me to stop ASAP to expel it. Nothing worse then having the runs at a festival, but fortunately it was just that burrito.
I got there early enough, but the line in was RIDICULOUS, even for staff. I was standing in the plebeian's line behind two burner-bikini clad gals who were slamming Red Bull and Tequila, until I realized I was in the wrong line. The staff line was much shorter, but still took over an hour. And it was for no good reason, just mismanagement. For example, some crews got their wristbands mailed out prior, but no parking passes, so they had to be in line anyways. So dumb. Fortunately, I ran into a partner-in-crime, Chocolate, who was volunteering for RGX medical as a runner with his golf cart (more on this later) so I had someone to talk to while in line. But once we got our passes, we lost track of each other in the stupid gridlock to get in. It took me longer to get from the venue gate to a camping spot than it did to get from the Cruz to Oakdale.
I was forced to park way out of the camping area in a temp parking field that became a parking field because they couldn't enforce temp parking once the fest got rolling. It was a bit closer, but still a hike. I was scrambling to find the alleged Zendo camping cell, but all the directions were misguided. There was no Zendo camping. I was on my own completely. It was dark and windy, and I had my tent and some gear, struggling to find a safe space. As fate would have it, I befriended some Green Dot Rangers - they oversee psych issues in the field at Burning Man. They let me join their camp, lent me a light while I set up my tent in the night wind, and we shared tales and libations over the weekend. I got to the Zendo about 15 minutes late for set up. I hate to be late, especially with a new group that I was trying to impress, but as it happened, everyone was stuck in that entrance snarl, so set up was postponed to the next day.
So I walked the grounds a little, tried to get my bearings on people and resources, and then tucked in for the night.
The journey started out rough. I was going in solo, riding with Zendo, a psychedelic harm reduction group that spawned out of MAPS (Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies) and Burning Man. Dr. David Smith, founder of the Haight Ashbury Free Clinic, had introduced me to the group a few years ago as a cross-org exchange, and I've been meaning to volunteer for them every since but their events coincide with RM events.
I left the Cruz around noon on Wednesday - it was Holst's birthday, so I was blaring The Planets as I cut over the mountains, and then my lunch burrito went sour on me, demanding me to stop ASAP to expel it. Nothing worse then having the runs at a festival, but fortunately it was just that burrito.
I got there early enough, but the line in was RIDICULOUS, even for staff. I was standing in the plebeian's line behind two burner-bikini clad gals who were slamming Red Bull and Tequila, until I realized I was in the wrong line. The staff line was much shorter, but still took over an hour. And it was for no good reason, just mismanagement. For example, some crews got their wristbands mailed out prior, but no parking passes, so they had to be in line anyways. So dumb. Fortunately, I ran into a partner-in-crime, Chocolate, who was volunteering for RGX medical as a runner with his golf cart (more on this later) so I had someone to talk to while in line. But once we got our passes, we lost track of each other in the stupid gridlock to get in. It took me longer to get from the venue gate to a camping spot than it did to get from the Cruz to Oakdale.
I was forced to park way out of the camping area in a temp parking field that became a parking field because they couldn't enforce temp parking once the fest got rolling. It was a bit closer, but still a hike. I was scrambling to find the alleged Zendo camping cell, but all the directions were misguided. There was no Zendo camping. I was on my own completely. It was dark and windy, and I had my tent and some gear, struggling to find a safe space. As fate would have it, I befriended some Green Dot Rangers - they oversee psych issues in the field at Burning Man. They let me join their camp, lent me a light while I set up my tent in the night wind, and we shared tales and libations over the weekend. I got to the Zendo about 15 minutes late for set up. I hate to be late, especially with a new group that I was trying to impress, but as it happened, everyone was stuck in that entrance snarl, so set up was postponed to the next day.
So I walked the grounds a little, tried to get my bearings on people and resources, and then tucked in for the night.
Shadow boxing the apocalypse