The Great Indoors

I don't think I'll ever fully understand the allure of roughing it. I enjoy viewing and appreciating nature, but when it comes to interacting with nature, I'll take a pass.

Yesterday, I went camping... like real camping... in a tent out in Crooked Creek park. I haven't been camping in over seven years. Sure, I've gone to my friend's cabin in Cook's Forest a few times, but that's really more like living just below the poverty line than actually existing in the outdoors. You're essentially living in a small house without air conditioning. I can deal with that for a few days, but actually camping out in a tent is a whole different beast.

Believe it or not (and you should since I've mentioned it before), I'm an Eagle Scout. That means that I've spent countless hours camping in a tent while I was growing up. To be honest, I'm not sure how I made it through the Boy Scouts. I've always been a man of the modern age. I have no interest in cooking over a campfire, sleeping on the dirt, or swatting mosquitoes off of my arms and legs all night. This is why people invented things. Someone was living that existence and said, "This is shit! I'm inventing a stove and a goddamn mattress!"

The weather was not particularly pleasant last night, so when it started to rain, my camping compatriots and I scrambled into the already sweltering tent. The rain added our friend humidity to the mix. And then I had bug spray all over my arms and legs because I had no desire to get the fucking West Nile Virus from the rampaging hoards of mosquitoes that infest the outdoors at dusk. My arms were sticky, the tent was like a sauna, and there I was flat on the ground because my puny human brain didn't think to bring sufficient padding for me to sleep on.

Lest you think I didn't enjoy myself, the trip on the whole was actually pretty fun. It was just the sleepless night spent in the torture chamber of my own devising that was unpleasant. During the day, we went down to the "beach" along Crooked Creek Lake. After applying SPF 50 sunscreen to my pasty body, I enjoyed the white trash equivalent of a day at the beach. I say this because the beach had an honor policy for guests to pay a fee of one dollar for using the beach. My honorable friends and I ignored said policy. There were no lifeguards or park personnel to enforce the rule, and as any good cynic knows, it's only a rule if you get caught. I think one of my friends did pay though. Way to make the rest of us look bad, asshole!

After a healthy lunch of kielbasa and sweet sausage, Joe's parents picked us up on their boat, and we went fishing on the Allegheny River. This brings me to the other outdoor activity for which I have no love: fishing.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. 95% of the time spent fishing is very enjoyable, because if you're with a good group, you spend hours getting drunk and shooting the shit and maybe five minutes actually dealing with the fish. It's fish time that I hate. Fish are fucking disgusting. I don't want anything to do with a fish unless it's battered, deep fried, served with tartar sauce, and possibly injected with some form of cheddar-jack cheese. Fish in their natural form look like something out of a bad episode of Star Trek.
The sad part is that I caught three small catfish while out on the boat yesterday, and like the true epitome of manliness that I am, I had someone else dispose of my fishy friends. I felt like a huge pansy until Joe yelled to Fryar, "Watch out! Its tail fin can sting you!" So not only are fish slimy and riddled with mercury, but they also sting! Fryar almost got bitch slapped by the tail of one fish. I've heard some of them even bite. I'll leave the capturing of animals for food to the experts, thank you very much. Bring Admiral Ackbar to me when he's garnished with lemon and parsley.

And for those keeping score, I don't like to hunt either.

By now you're probably thinking, "Wow! They must just give those Eagle Scout awards away for nothing!" That's only partially true (at least in the Mormon-run scout troop that I was in). I have the skills to deal with the outdoors. I can start a fire, set up a tent, and identify the leaves of poisonous stuff (though I wouldn't bet your life on my memory). I just don't like to do it. I still can't figure out why I stayed with the Boy Scouts for so long. I guess I was a glutton for punishment from way back. It was like a trial run for grad school.

I like the outdoors... just let me handle it with all sorts of creature comforts at my disposal. Let other people appreciate the great outdoors. I'll appreciate my nice soft mattress and air conditioning - and the blog that lets me bitch about all of it.

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The Boy Scouts of America: Implementing a new policy of rescinding Eagle Awards for the undeserving since 2008.