In the Depths of Winter, Blogagaard Fondly Remembers Summer Travels
The night before this picture was taken at Crater Lake in Oregon (perhaps the most beautiful place I've ever been) my stepdad Tom and I ripped shit up at a campground about fifty miles away. You know you're at a beautiful spot in the world when simply its presence makes you forget the worst hangover possible. Tom claims we spoke for hours of great hilarious conversation I don't even remember (we drank as we waited for our campfire to get hot, and then we drank while we waited for the water to boil, and but I don't remember eating dinner when it finally was ready to eat, though I certainly remember waking up in it). My appologies to all the campers we must have annoyed with our boisterous ways and the peeps we woke up with our drunken long distance calling. But as Tom said that morning, "It's hard to say woah in a horse race."
Get yourself to Crater Lake, yo.
29 comments:
I keep telling Clurg that we should go camping for exactly these reasons, but he won't listen to me.
He's afraid of spiders and things.
I didn't see any spiders, but I did see one cute as hell brown bear nibbling on some plants on the side of the road. Camping is fun, you just need great camp sites, alchol, and fun people to camp with (the fun people are optional, of course).
I'm going to ignore the camping discussion here and just replay an Oppegaard comment:
Christmas is never like Die Hard, is it?
Well, it's not, Clurg. It's just not. Sometimes, on Christmas Eve, I hang out at dark office skyscrapers, or even at busy airports, waiting to kick some terroist ass, but nothing ever freakin' happens. Well, something does happen, but getting arrested by rent-a-cops is hardly as exciting as blowing shit up.
Christmas is about family, not ass-kicking. Unless you have that kind of family.
Tell that to the Christmas Ninjas, Viney. Just try and tell that to the Christmas Ninjas. They even have mistletoe throwing stars...
Put away the dishes,
Batten down.
The Christmas Ninjas are in town.
They come to leap,
They come to fight,
They're sneaking in on Christmas night.
But don't you worry,
Never fear,
The Christmas Pirates are also here.
They'll fix that nasty
Ninja mess,
And make sure your Christmas remains blessed.
Then share a cup o' hearty grog,
You read about it on Oppegaard's blog.
Kelly, that is by far the best piece of song lyric/poetry ever published on this venerable blog.
Rolling Stone lyric: "How come you're so wrong, my sweet neo con."
I considered for a moment putting a little poem up on every blog I read (or getting you to do half of them), but, I don't know, why?
Why not? Poetry is so easy. I don't know what poets are always bitching about. Here, I just made this up:
I like milk
Hell yeah!
I like milk a lot
It tastes so good
Especially in white Russian
Format.
You can't be a poet. You must be churning churning churning deep inside, and it must not be a Mac attack.
Drunken camping is the best.
The last time I was churning churning churning depe inside was after eating at a Chinese buffet. Those things are dangerous, people!
"Blogagaard's Ode to Chinese Buffets"
Gleaming red sauces
Deep fried unspecified meat
Oodles of golden noodles
Why must you tempt me, Chinese buffet?
Communist cold war on my stomach
Call off your chopsticks
I refuse your carmalized trough.
Be careful, SD. Drunken camping can be a surly mistress, especially if it rains and you've falling asleep on the picnic table.
I remember camping when I was in college, at the Red River Gorge. My friend, Todd, and I took my girlfriend, Edith, down into the valley for an overnight. We were effete college boys, and Edith was a hard-living town girl for whom camping was not the backpacks and Lexan bottles we were carrying, but instead a novel opportunity to drink. (Later, the health department contacted me about Edith, but that's a different, humiliating, story.) She became concerned after we walked about eight miles (I had her stuff), but, undaunted, settled into the campground, got amazingly drunk, and then got into a philosophical dispute with Todd, and, somehow, in order to prove the existence of God ("I'll show you God exists..."), walked off of a ledge and fell in the river. Then she wanted to make it in the tent. (Next to Todd? No. I was a weenie.) Then we carried her home.
Moral: don't walk too far in if you plan to drink.
I've only ever been camping with my mom, who thought 'outdoorsy fun' was supposed to consist mainly of telling her children what to do. Like 'Move that ice chest a little closer to the barbecue grill' or 'You mean you haven't gotten that tent set up yet?' I'm interested in trying camping in a more democractic environment, with alcohol.
The last time I went camping was terrible, mostly. Not enough drinking by me, too much by other people
Nature is a delicate balance, SD. Very delicate indeed.
Hey, am I the only one who watches that regular TV nature show on Sunday mid-mornings where the soothing voice guy talks about wolves and bears and flying squirrels? Flying squirrels fascinate me.
I don't know the show you speak of. I kinda know someone who used to have flying squirrels as pets, he called them 'manimals'. You should get a pet squirrel!
Manimal. If you need a picture to help you remember, try here.
I've had so many discussions with friends over the years about this horrible show.
What the hell were they thinking when they put that bird on that lady's head?
I agree, Clurg, it's bad as shows go, though the nature footage is interesting, at least to someone living in a studio apartment in St. Paul, with only squirrels and bunnies for company. Seriously, I go on walks around here at night and it's like freakin' Watership Down.
In my short (very, very short) career as an aspiring novelist, I wrote a chapter about Jim being attacked by big cats while Marlon intoned, "Wow. I hope Jim has good life insurance. That's why you need to consider Mutual of Omaha's..." The same, um, work had a chapter narrated by a marmot.
ooo, will you send me that, Kelly? Please?
'Surly mistress'! That would be an awesome blogspot identity! awesome idea, blogagaard.
you thinking of changing Ids?
Well, just to joke about.
thirty comments, ooooo ya.
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