So John and I had a torturous trek out to Target yesterday (say that 5 times fast), but on the way we passed a pawn shop. I hopped in on our way back to see if I could get a guitar on the cheap to take to Burning Man (my two-month old, $200 Yamaha? in that extreme weather? uuuh, no). Lo and behold, I was able to procure a pretty sweet one plus a hard case for 80 bucks. WIN.

Now it just needs a totally kickass name.

I find myself amazed at how Burning Man is actually coming together. To say my plans have a history of not coming together would be a) cynical and b) a lie, but this time it's a horse of a different color. This isn't something directly connected with theatre or school. This isn't something I had to apply or audition for, or anyone had to allow me to go to beyond the folks what sell the tickets. It's something I'm doing for little other reason than I Want to Do It and By Gods I'm Going To. It is also, by all accounts, like nothing else in the world. The pictures, I'm told, don't do it justice. Expect nothing. So I have no idea what's going to happen, and I embrace that.

It's a totally new kind of adventure.

Bring it the Fuck On.