variations on the simple life

It's vitally important to understand that of the eleven folks in my office, ten drive either SUVs, mini-vans, or colossal pick-up trucks. In fact, amongst those ten, there are 15 jumbo vehicles tearing about the wilds of northern Nevada. (In case you're wondering, and you are, there are also two trailer-campers, one boat, two ATVs, at least three motorcycles, eight other cars, and enough armament to hold off Bolivia for a week.) It's math beyond the tangent of 270. Not really the point of the entry, but the numbers started crawling around in my brain and I couldn't expel them. Christine and the boys 'did' camping last weekend at Harper's Ferry, W. Virginia-Marlyand-Virginia and suddenly camping raised its silly little head at work this week after a question from a co-worker. To be fair to him, he's got a big ol' pick-up and big camper that he uses quite often...not sure how that gets him off the hook, but there you have it. Way back in early 2004 we had many a laugh trying to figure out the difference between (in his words) 'tent-camping' and 'camping'. Seems rather obvious, but it's another in a long list of off-beat descriptions that gnaw at me. If you'd like to know how my little brain works just think about fiction and non-fiction, and camping and tent camping. I'll explain just the one and let everyone scratch chins and think. Camping is, by default...camping...in a tent or in the open. The grammar of it SHOULD be 'camping' and 'RV-camping'. You can't take the original idea, repackage it by adding some adjective, and smoothly replace the original idea with the lazy idea. I'm sure everyone just left the blog...sorry. So. On Monday the good lieutenant was asking if anyone knew anything about batteries, connections, power, and other manly tasks required of manly men. I immediately offered up sarcastic advice that had nothing to do with my ability to do anything with tools, power sources, or directions; but it did offer a spotlight for my ability to pick up the male lingo (Holley double-pumper carbs, boring stuff out, brake horsepower, 220 or 221s...whatever it takes). Show me flatpack and I'm off to the library for a few hours of Latin study. Come to find out he's trying to figure out how to run batteries, power, generators, possible solar panels, and myriad other devices to/into his camper in order to...drum roll please....run the AC in the 35-foot luxury trailer. Now, I'm just one man, but I think you can sit home in your underwear, on the couch, drinking a beer, and have the same effect of 'camping' as you will in a 35-foot, three-bedroom, Manhatten apartment of a camper. As Kramer so beautifully said in a 'Seinfeld' episode..."I can't go outside. There's nothing out there for me!" How very true. I'm guessing we've moved to another level, another place in outdoor history....'tent camping', 'camping', 'climate-controlled camping'.

"Honey? Seems the camping gear is packed. Did you remember the 500-count sateen sheets, Chianti, and oysters?"

I jest, even if the story is true. And to be fair to X and the boys, they did camp in a tent on the banks of the Hoohah river. Thankfully, when all was unpacked, food was stored high on a tree branch (bears, you know), guns were loaded, and all seemed swell...a headlamp and a nice Consitutional Law book was pulled from the rubble to save the intrepid explorers.

hey to all.

t