In early 2001 I told my son we were going to Japan. His immediate excited response was this: Well mom, you’re going to have to learn how to shit on a plane. I don’t recall that I actually emptied my bowels on that seventeen-hour flight, but Henry had a point. The idea of crapping away from a familiar toilet, particularly around a bunch of strangers, and in a situation that involves not-real-plumbing is usually enough to stop me up, sometimes for days on end. Which was the case last weekend, at least until my intestines couldn’t stand it anymore. Warren, my hot young boyfriend, had invited me months prior to attend Flipside with him, the local version of Burning Man, that annual festival in the desert where thousands of people set up a tent city and experiment in… well, let’s just say all sorts of things. more ›