The Woodsman

I was out of town this weekend, engaging in some "camping" in upstate NY. There I was going around telling everyone about my weekend plans and over 50% of the people I mentioned them to corrected me - "That's not really camping, that's, like hanging out outside." Easy for you to say, but for this kid, who grew up in the sheltered confines of a Flushing apartment complex with a crack house across the street and dear old dad carrying a steel baton whenever we went outside after dark to play around in the snow, "camping" is kind of a big deal.

Put this into further context - the first time I ever slept outside (i.e. in a tent) was during my first Israel trip back in 2004. That's right, the good 'ol Bedouin tent experience. It was then that I learned the importance of having earplugs for outdoor sleeping arrangements. Besides one or two other subsequent Bedouin tent opportunities, the first time I camped in the States was last fall when I went with "the guys" to a site up near Woodstock. Sure it was tame in the sense that the site was government regulated and we had a nice stone fire pit/grill and access to decent park bathrooms, but it was still a step outside my element to say that I actually put up a tent and used lanterns to cook outside in the dark and slept on hard ground.

This time it was a jump to a two-night stay, but still in the sort of "camp" setting that people gave me crap for. I considered this a step-up in terms of my daring. And I have to be honest, that all-night lightening storm and torrential downpour that we had was pretty sweet. I woke up at 7:30 feeling all damp. I haven't peed myself in a really long time, so I looked for other explanations. Sure enough, I was sleeping in the part of the tent that was at the bottom of the site's slope and there was a nice little pool of water directly under my bag. Now that's hardcore bitches. You trying sleeping 6 hours in a pool of water. Rawr.

And heck, I didn't shower for like 60 hours, even after that quarter-day hike we went on and I got soaked during. Attacked by mosquitoes and gnats and having to contend with one toilet for an entire camp ground filled with douchie frat-types, I think I managed pretty freaking well.

So sure, I wasn't on the Appalachian trail and I didn't knife a mountain lion or drink my own urine, but baby steps. Give a brother a break. I'm feeling like next time I might be ready to go on a more thorough sort of trip where I carry all my supplies (yet to be purchased) in my massive hiking backpack (yet to be purchased) and make my way through the forest, stopping and camping out at random points. I had a friend out there with me who just got back from several months in South America and he was telling us about one of the 8-day hikes he went on, lugging around all of his stuff during 8-10 hour daily hikes. That's bad ass, to be trekking through Patagonia with 60 lbs. on your back for that long. One day. Who knows.

Also, today is Memorial Day, and so I need to acknowledge all our soldiers because one of my pet peevs is people taking this country for granted. I'm not going to get into it here or now, but I wanted to put it out there. I'm also proud, on this Memorial Day, to be the owner of a brand new passport. Thank you State Department. Major ups to you. Only shitty part is the pic I ended up submitting which will now represent me in all foreign locals for the next 10 years. I went into the photo shop all psyched, ready to take a good pic, feeling confident that this one would be way better than the 17 year-old me with the fuzzy mustache that I've had to carry around for the last decade. I did everything they tell you to do - wear a bland colored shirt, not smile, and have a kick-ass hair day. All factors gearing me up for a great shot, except that when it came out it looked like I had a lazy eye. I went around for like 3 days asking people whether I actually did have a lazy eye until I finally realized that it's a photographic effect caused by the guy's off-centered flash reflecting off of my retina (or at least that's what I came to tell myself was the problem). In either case, I've replaced what I had with a pic that makes me look like a Russian criminal. Well done.

Last thing, regarding Memorial Day, as our group was passing through the little town around our campgrounds looking for some nice pancake house, there were a few veterans standing around collecting money for their local veteran's association. I stopped to give the guy a $3 donation and then he proceeded to give me back two of my dollars, saying that one was enough. I didn't necessarily get this but I took the money and repocketed it. Then he looks down at the shirt I'm wearing, which happens to be an Israeli Navy shirt because I own several pieces of Israeli military apparel (and yes, I know no one in Israel would be caught dead wearing one of these, and yes I realize that on some level it's played out and cheesy, but I think you'll manage just fine knowing that I still wear mine). I see him thinking about it for a second, and then he goes, "Israeli Navy!? Why not!?" Just made me smile.