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Rubber Indian Project!

250 little rubber Indians were given to me by a patient. He got them by way of a long story, and said he was sure I could find something intersting to do with them.

A Challenge! The gauntlet had been thrown.

He apparently has many many of these little guys. On a recent roadtrip he planted a few into every place he stopped. No salt shaker or parked police car in the country was safe from my patient, planting little rubber indians. My patients rock.

OK, back to MY story. It all started coming together... my pal Godfrey was bringing a working vending machine to BurningMan99. He asked that everyone in camp bring some sort of little 'things' to dispense to passersby*. My initial ideas of broken glass and rotting garbage were nixed. Then I got my hands on 250 of these Indians. "Ahhh, yes, step right up, pull the knob, and git yerself a genuine little rubber indian. Same Great Taste!"

And then I thought- what will become of my 250 little rubber friends? Who will take them home, and to what fate? I couldn't just turn them loose into the cruel world.

Each Indian included a reference to this page, and the URL and password to a special, secret, sister-page.

On that page, all takers of Indians were asked to divulge the fate of their new little friend. Hopefully, the page would eventually include:

Whether the Indian ever even left the Playa (I suspect many will be mysteriously consumed by flame...)
Where the Indian lives now
Pics of Indians in their new homes

This should have been fun. But the secret page hardly ever got visited, and only about 15 people responded with any info about their indians. It was a tough lesson about BurningMan being overrun by spectators, rather than participants. So I turned the secret page into an announcement that BurningMan is dead.

Studio

Front Door

*The 'things' will be of course given away, not sold, because there is only one allowed money-exchange at BurningMan. It is the movement of your money into the coffers of the BurningMan Corporation.

Rubber Indian Project!
250 little rubber Indians were given to me by a patient. He got them by way of a long story, and said he was sure I could find something intersting to do with them.
A Challenge! The gauntlet had been thrown.
	He apparently has many many of these little guys. On a recent roadtrip he planted a few into every place he stopped. No salt shaker or parked police car in the country was safe from my patient, planting little rubber indians. My patients rock.
OK, back to MY story. It all started coming together... my pal Godfrey was bringing a working vending machine to BurningMan99. He asked that everyone in camp bring some sort of little 'things' to dispense to passersby*. My initial ideas of broken glass and rotting garbage were nixed. Then I got my hands on 250 of these Indians. "Ahhh, yes, step right up, pull the knob, and git yerself a genuine little rubber indian. Same Great Taste!"
	And then I thought- what will become of my 250 little rubber friends? Who will take them home, and to what fate? I couldn't just turn them loose into the cruel world.
Each Indian included a reference to this page, and the URL and password to a special, secret, sister-page.
	On that page, all takers of Indians were asked to divulge the fate of their new little friend. Hopefully, the page would eventually include:
`Whether the Indian ever even left the Playa (I suspect many will be mysteriously consumed by flame...)` `Where the Indian lives now` `Pics of Indians in their new homes`
	This should have been fun. But the secret page hardly ever got visited, and only about 15 people responded with any info about their indians. It was a tough lesson about BurningMan being overrun by spectators, rather than participants. So I turned the secret page into an announcement that BurningMan is dead.
	Studio
	Front Door
The 'things' will be of course given away, not sold, because there is only one* allowed money-exchange at BurningMan. It is the movement of your money into the coffers of the BurningMan Corporation.