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September 15, 2006
Friday Shuffle - The Wilderness Edition
I think it should be mentioned that I do consider myself an environmentalist. I go to some length to make sure that my family's footprint on this earth is a relatively small one. I'm not going to make a list of the earth-friendly things we do, but suffice it to say, I care about Mother Earth and all that hippie jazz.
That said, I'm not a big fan of the great outdoors. I admire the beauty of nature and recognize the restorative power of time spent communing with it. I'd just rather not be the one doing the communing. Particularly, don't take me camping. Don't ask me to join you on a camping trip. Just ... don't. Believe me, if I go camping with you, no one is going to have a good time.
When I was a kid, most of our family vacations were of the camping variety. Not in a tent, at least. God no. That's where my mom drew the line. There was no sleeping on the ground with the snakes. Instead, we were "sheltered" in a pop-up camper.
Those things sticking out like wings? Those are beds. If you think it's exciting when you have the falling dream at home, just wait until you have it in a suspended bed like that, hanging over a ravine in Colorado!
And I wonder why I have panic attacks.
I had a good, long talk with my friend Kim earlier this week. She's the one responsible for that awesome Vegas/U2 weekend last November. Anyway, we were talking about how it's harder to travel with kids now than it was when we were kids. It's hard for a kiddo to sit still in a car/booster seat for a 13-hour road trip. Hell, when we were kids, we made the same drive, bouncing around in the veryback back seat of a VW Beetle station wagon, and it was fun!
Kim and I both went on vacations while riding in the bed of pickup trucks with camper shells. I went all the way from Missouri to Florida like that when I was in second grade. It was great! Technically, I think that truck bed counts as my first apartment. I slept there, took my meals there, read there, listened to my music. Granted, it would have been nice to have had a bathroom and perhaps basic cable, but the price was right.
I've got to interject right here, because I want to tell you my all-time favorite camping story, but it doesn't fit anywhere else in my story so I'm going to drop it here. We were on a big family camping trip. My granny had this bouffant hairdo - how she got hair that big in the great outdoors, I have no idea. The Cuz was a wee one who was probably too young to be given a marshmallow on a sharp stick and instructions to stick the whole rig into the campfire, but what the hell did we know? When she pulled that black, flaming marshmallow from the fire, she went looking for someone to remove it for her and plop! The whole mass of flaming goo landed in Granny's 'do. I think Jesus' love was the only thing that protected my granny from the potentially lethal combination of fire and half a jar of Dippity Do.
At the time, sleeping in that camper or in the bed of the truck didn't seem like roughing it. It was fun. Don't expect me to do it again, though.
Well, there's one possible exception. A few weeks ago I caught a little bit of a show about people who restore teardrop trailers. These little campers are 5' x 10' and I want one.
For camping.
I am sick in the head.
"I think you'll have problems sleeping in that," B. said. And it's true. I'm a tad bit claustrophobic. And by "tad bit" I mean, dear God, don't get anywhere near my face when we're sleeping in our queen-size bed or I'll be forced to move to the couch.
So, fine. We have a truck. We'll just have to throw the couch into the bed of the truck when we go camping, just in case B., Clara Jane, or Chloe the Basset get within a foot of my face in our 5' x 10' living quarters.
Of course I'm taking Chloe the Basset. How could I deny her the joy of camping? She would love it! Murphy's not invited.
I have no idea why I find these little campers so appealing. I have a feeling simply because I'm drawn to their lovely retro stying and if that's the case I need to get over it and just buy another damn pink percolator.
But then it occured to me that I can set my sights higher than the teardrop. There are other snazzy old campers! And I wouldn't have to go camping in them! I could park one in my driveway, plug it in, and have my own little place away from my family, because frankly, having spent this entire day clawing my way through the mountains of abandoned laundry, toys, paints, floor tiles, garbage, dead batteries and general crap left around the house by my family, I could use a little time in the wilderness of my damn driveway!
Oh, who am I kidding? Bugs can get into any of those claptraps. Shuffle me up a suite for one at the Marriott, okay?
1. Heartbreak Hotel - Willie Nelson (That's funny. Didn't Willie live in an RV outside his estate when the IRS forclosed on it? Maybe he'd like to lend it to me.)
2. Hotel - Tori Amos
3. Sleeping with Ghosts - Placebo (I swear, I'm not making this shit up. My iPod needs a good night in a hotel, too.)
4. Don't Let Go - Weezer
5. Desire - U2
6. Keep Your Head Up - Eagles of Death Metal
7. Love is Alive - Joan Osbourne
8. Psycho Killer - Talking Heads
9. Landlocked Blues - Bright Eyes
10. No Cars Go - Arcade Fire (Which is probably what would happen if I hitch my wagon to it.)
Posted by Robin at September 15, 2006 03:20 PM
Comments
You know, it's a wonder that any of us who rode for hundreds of miles in the way way backs of station wagons or in the beds of trucks under a camper shell ever reached adulthood.
I feel so old. I remember when Dippity Do was a completely normal thing to grease your hair up with before you snapped on the curlers. And I thought the pink Dippity Do was so pretty.
Posted by: Dixie at September 15, 2006 05:42 PM
Christ, Dippity Do! If you know me, you'd be surprised to know my hair was once straight as a ruler. Now, it is a delightful mass of amber waves/fluffy like a baby owl.
My mom used to set my hair in metal curlers when I had a nice event the next day. How did people sleep on them? SHE STILL USES THEM.
Posted by: allison at September 15, 2006 07:24 PM
Wow, Dippity-Do!
I'm sure my mom still has a couple "Vintage" jars way back in the cabinet under the sink; I tried it once when I was makin' Big Hair with pink spongy rollers before every football game and Color Guard event, my what a sticky mess!
Posted by: Debbie at September 16, 2006 02:13 PM
My mother has informed me that I neglected a key part of the flaming marshmallow story. Wendy, aka The Cuz, wasn't just wandering around with a flaming marshmallow on a sharp stick. She was flinging it around in an attempt to extinguish the flames when it went flying onto Granny's head.
She also informed me that Granny was able to maintain that mile-high hairdo - you really need to see a photo of it, and I promise I'll dig one out soon - because it was "set" once a week.
When I got my first punk/spiky haircut in the early '80s, it was Dippity-Do that kept my hair a-rockin'.
Posted by: Robin at September 16, 2006 03:32 PM
ok, it's on...rolling rock, dippity do and pink rollers. i wonder if we could do that do, poppy, i bet we could.
and my policy about camping...no plug in, no lisa.
oh and one time after my mom got remarried and there was 9 kids in the house, we drove to san antonio in our light blue station wagon. i think it was fun. i mean, i remember it being fun. but it had to have been hell because there was 9 kids, 2 parents and no air conditioning.
Posted by: pkb at September 16, 2006 07:18 PM
OK, this is really weird. I was just looking at that same Airstream website on Thursday and Friday, are you psychic? You have to check out Airstream's 75th Anniversary version of the Bambi, I am having serious problems resisting it.
Posted by: Monica at September 16, 2006 10:55 PM
B really has the art of understatement down doesn't he.
I remember hanging out in the back of station wagon reading and listening to music during our many moves while my dad was in the army. I think Dix is right -- it's a wonder any of us survived to adulthood.
Posted by: Katya at September 17, 2006 03:10 PM
Clearly granny realized that The Higher The Hair, The Closer to God and the lord protected her from the flaming marshmallow.
Posted by: Lotta at September 18, 2006 02:28 AM
