>I am in a post-Burning-Man funk

The playa kinda knocked me on my tush this year, but I will not be going into that.

What I will go into is this:

Some numb-nuts set the man on fire on Sunday night by setting off fireworks under it. Surprised the hell out of me…I didn’t realize The Man was flammable. (insert laughter here _______.)

My camp arrived early…the Friday before the event, to set up our art installation. The bitch of it was we had almost nonstop white-outs (where the wind kicks up large amounts of playa dust which adheres itself to anything and everything), 115+ degree temps and uber-cranky people who were attempting to set up 62-ft geodesic domes and sound stages. Testosterone flew and estrogen fled and people were generally having a crap time.

In an attempt to prevent the nastiness that can claim your hair working in such conditions on the playa, I had cleverly arranged my hair into several braids in which I had woven some uber-cool knitting yarn and ribbons and ended up arranging it into this bun-knot thing on the back of my head. The process of braiding required quite a bit of time and hair gel, and I marveled at my skill and creativity.

However.

hair gel + sweat + tons of playa dust = one nasty mess.

My hair remained un-mussed all week due to this coiffing mixture. Which was all fine and good. I didn’t have to worry about my hair not looking uber-playariffic. It just…stayed there. I became increasingly aware of the accumulation of nastiness on my scalp as the week progressed, but fortunately Burning Man is absolutely riddled with distractions.

I got home yesterday. Reality set in. I knew that I had to contend with the de-playafying of my head.

I contemplated calling my therapist.

My good friend Sev, who is an accomplished knitter, helped me de-yarn my head with some clever knitting tools she had on hand. Once said yarn was removed, I noticed, to my abject horror, that my hair had maintained its previous form minus the decor thanks to the playa-gel-sweat concoction. Placing my hands upon my mane was abhorrent. I prayed that acetone or turpentine would not be required.

I got back home and soaked my head in the tub for some time, washing it a couple times and soaking it in conditioner for a while. Rather than dealing with it after this, I went to bed.

I woke up not only re-hashing the drama of the previous week but to add insult to injury, I attempted to run my fingers through my hair and realized what a rat’s nest it was. I wadded it up into a sad, clumpy mound with a hair tie and got out of bed, still in denial.

About 2 hours ago I realized this problem would not remedy itself and decided to contend with the rats-nest on my head. Kira grabbed me a comb.

Ouch. Bloody blazing turnips on fire ouch.

Now I really contemplated calling my therapist.

This took some time. A lot of time. And profanity.

As the process continued I noticed more and more hair was coming out of the comb I was using.

And more.

And more.

The playa was balding me.

When all was said and done this is what I was left with.
I used the comb for scale.

Ever have a moment of incredulity? Happened to me.

Fortunately I had a ton of hair to begin with, so this massive fuzzball has made little difference in the appearance of my head. I know I should throw it away, but part of me wants to keep it both as a souvenir and as a relic of nostalgia.

Maybe I should mail it to the persons responsible for my playa-drama thanking them for the stress which may have been partially responsible for my excess shedding.

I wonder how much postage I would need?

Voulez-voulez-vous playafied.