There — The Landlubber

Another year's sojourn to Lake Del Valle has come and gone and, as expected, it was excellent. So much meat, even more beer and a Jambox The Second belting out more Fleetwood Mac than you can shake a stick at (we know this because the neighbors were shaking them at us for a full 48 hours). I don't usually make a point of pissing people off while camping (well maybe one, but in that case the feeling's usually mutual), but I think if you climb inside your RV and lock the door and don't say anything you're basically giving us carte blanche, no? Maybe they know that if they came over to quiet us they'd end up having a couple beers and singing along til 2 a.m. and then what would the other neighbors think? Feast your eye people, this could be you too. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day 1

The addition of the Red Ryder this year made for some new and interesting entertainment. Note the oven mit? We're like a goddamn David Lynch film over here.

Somewhere in there I got Franklin to shoot a beer can off my head a la William Tell-me lies-tell-me-sweet-little-lies. He got it in one shot, the bb zipping through while the full can remained poised aloft raining its contents on my hair and making me unutterably proud. A moment of so much love and joy.

While all this was going on, Eddie did his best ELO pantomome and took a dive on the grill, somehow not igniting his highly flamable parka or knocking off his glasses. A short while later, Curt shuffled a skunk from out of the grass, scooting it between his feet and never getting sprayed. Later still, Lila, Sophia and I howled along to the Boss (and others) until the wee hours of morning and never got yelled at by the cops who kept driving by at 2mph. Only one puking occurred and it was done gentleman style against a tree, away from the tents (and my shoes). Quite a sucessful evening I must say.

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Day 2

Took the tub down to the lake for a row, pulling her barge-style through the shallows.

Happy passengers and rowers alike.

The neighbors took advantage of our absence to leave us love notes. It must have taken them hours to get that unanimous vote from the entire campground. I guess "seventy-three percent of the entire campground" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Just to show them what heathens we are, we drank cocktails and played board games the rest of the afternoon.

Jesse even pretended to read on the yacht.

Everyone flees when he makes the sign of the cross with those hands.

Tupac came along again and got himself a country home.

Our little village.

More meals from the grill.

Despite our desire to show the neighbors we wouldn't be cowed by their aggressive passivity, evening the second was a great deal mellower. So much so that I think some people even went to bed before lights out.