Occupy SLC, Part III

This entry made possible by the Blogger app for Android, on my Motorola ATRIX. 
I dropped my laptop on its head today, and broke a piece of the plastic case, near the top corner of the display. The screen doesn't work on it anymore, but this app seems quite capable of performing the necessary tasks.
I talked to Jordan, a friend of mine, who lives in Provo. Concerning the movement, he said he had a friend who reports for what I think is a college newspaper there in Provo. The reporter, according to Jordan, drove up here to cover the event, and in the process, succeeded in convincing a female protester to abandon the cause, and go home. After he questioned her about the protests, it became apparent that she didn't know why she was here at the park. He never asked her to go home, it just dawned on her that she wasn't well-enough informed to want to stay.  That, or perhaps she ran out of marijuana.
Tonight, I'm set up beneath a tree, near the first night's location, and the general size of the camp seems to be decreasing ever so slightly.  There are still transients and pot-heads frequenting the place. I hear someone banging on what sounds like a thin steel saucepan, and it's minutes after midnight.
I turned out not needing the heater last night, and didn't bother with it tonight. The last time I had it in the tent, Sunday night, it ran out of fuel halfway through the night. It was the first night I had it going continuously, so I wasn't sure how long the fuel supply lasted. I found out--the cold way.

Occupy SLC, Part II

Though I didn't get much sleep last night, it being colder than I expected in the tent, I awoke, took a picture of the tent with the ambient light, and proceeded to pack up, still without talking to anyone.

I went about my day's activities, church, then a social event with some wonderful apple crisp, and at about ten o'clock, returned to the park with a plan.


The plan involves a Coleman space heater, fuel-powered, capable of heating a small tent such as mine.
Now, I'm not sure what the policy is here at the park concerning open flames, but I see a few homeless people up against brick buildings, and surmise that if open flames were allowed, at least one of these folks would have started one by now.
So I pitch my tent, and inside, light the open flame to start the space heater. The plan is that after burning an open flame for about ten minutes, the heater will be primed, and the heat-generating reaction will happen internally from then on out, to heat the tent without flames.
I light the first flame, and after five minutes, the flame burns out, but the heater didn't get primed enough. So I try again. This time, I prop open a hole in the top of the tent to let out exhaust gases, careful to keep it low-key. I have inadvertently set up my tent next to a Night Watch guard--an apathetic, portly fellow in his mid twenties wearing a yellow fluorescent vest.
On to light the flame for the second time. Burning for about ten minutes, I locate the heater to the place in the tent where it will continue to put out heat for another three after the flame burns out. (During this occasion, also, I hear the Night Watch man say something about a "situation" that he has. Fearing he's talking about me, I mentally prepare my talking points in favor of this saving flame of mine. No need, though; I am never approached.)
The third time will be the charm. I can't keep doing this, or this smoke emerging from the vent hole in the top of my tent will surely incriminate me! I light an even bigger flame than the previous two, with the tops of the flame almost licking the inside of the small tent. I set my phone's stopwatch and commence blogging.
And the flame did it! I am now looking at a faint orange glow in the element of the heater, and soon, the tent will be nice and toasty warm. Hearing traces of a conversation outside the tent, the phrases "the United States of Wal-Mart" and "BP" jump out at me.
I secretly hope for a light snowfall, so my tent will stand out as the only one with a melted radius around it, just to make these crazies a little envious.

Occupy SLC

A chilly October evening, and I find myself in Pioneer Park, beneath a military pup tent.

I'm not a refugee from justice, no. I'm just trying to get some sleep among the anti-capitalists and marijuana smoke. And the occasional homeless person.

I live three hours away from the protest that is taking place here, but I came to Salt Lake for a few days to see my dear Rebecca, to meet an old friend at the airport as he returns home from a mission, and to attend Rebecca's graduation from her vocational school. In looking for a place to stay, nothing jumped out at me, so I decided I could join with the peaceful (almost too peaceful) demonstrations taking place in Salt Lake City, our state's rendition of the recent "Occupy Wall Street" movement.

Though I don't particularly agree with what these people are protesting, I see that they have a permit from the city to occupy the park, and I need a place to sleep for a week, so bringing a sleeping bag and some blankets with me from my hometown wasn't out of the question. That, and I picked up a military surplus pup tent from a local store, and I am in business. The business of listening to pot-heads next to me dispute The Bible, cuss out a man having a coughing fit, and otherwise carry on into the night, that is.

Tomorrow is Sunday, but I'll try to make an entry every day with my impression of the event here in Pioneer Park.