I think that Diebold's voting machines have done the same thing too. They have eliminated the voter -- you.
At Bruno's Last Chance Saloon your last chance to get real food and use real rest rooms before entering the Burning Man desert they actually had 25-cent slot-machines. I lost a whole roll of quarters but felt that I had triumphed over Corporate America just the same.
Arriving at Burning Man in the middle of a sandstorm white-out was really intimidating. Ghost-like men and women dressed like extras from the old "Road Warrior" film moved past me like shadows on a Hiroshima wall. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. All I wanted to do was go home! Burning Man was bringing out the worst in me. Disgust and fear. "Burning Man will change you forever," said my son -- and it had. It had unleashed my evil twin.
Finally, after the wind died, I was able to set up my tent right next door to what appeared to be a yuppie 30-something version of a 24-hour strip show. "Turn off that noise and get a life!" I screamed at about 2 am. This is what these guys do when their mothers aren't around? I want to go home!
There is NO internet here. Unless you are an internet junkie like me, you have no idea how much that sucks eggs.
"I think the other reason that people come here," the man continued, "is because they missed out on the 1960s and this is like another Woodstock." You mean the young adults today actually CRAVE the idealism and hopefulness and war-resistance of the 1960s? I guess they do. There are 43,000 people here. At $250 a pop.
Then the sun went down. And the terrible world of heat and dust and "The Road Warrior" disappeared and a magical festival of lights came out. Up above me, I could actually see the Milky Way for the first time since I was a child. A procession of medieval lamplighters glided silently by, lighting all the kerosene lamps. All the bicycles have colored rainbow lights on them as they go by. Various theme camps glow in the dark. Hummm.... Maybe I WILL stay another day at Burning Man....