"Camp Wierdo" was established some years ago, quite unbeknownst to me. I can't tell you exactly where it is, because that would be a severe betrayal of trust. This little slice of paradise must remain unknown to all. Except the Russians. Somehow they figured it out, those crafty bastards. But Camp Wierdo is a place where everyone lets their freak flags fly, all at once. And believe you me, we've all got them.
With an apparent record turnout this year, the campsite was 'a bustlin.' I arrived on saturday afternoon, but a whole slew of others had already pre-established the campsite, as they'd been there for a night or two already. Clutter of the outdoor kind littered the common area where the coolers and cook fire was set up. BB guns, throwing knives, hatchets, axes, a maul, and a chainsaw, you know, everything that could possibly make a man feel more manly, or potentially maim him. Food was in the plenty, though according to the resident chef, FBI was a serious threat. That's Food Borne Illnesses for all you culinary simpletons out there. You kind of have to expect somethings wrong when the chef refuses to eat anything but granola.
The trip was filled with hilarity, obscenity, nudity, crudeness, beauty, joy, wretchedness, and brotherly love. I think that about covers the spectra, but in reality it's one of those situations where "you had to be there." I can recount a story to you, and you might even laugh. But to convey the feeling of it is quite difficult, if not impossible. The truth of the weekend was seen in the small moments, the idiosyncrasies. The moments when Nick would put his arm around me and smile. Words were not needed. A simple manly nudge, said more than any words could. Or when Burns would tap-out Kessler, seeing how tired he was from mauling the fallen timber, and take the axe for a turn. Or when Danny and Johnny would lock eyes in the middle of a song, knowing they were on to something. It would undoubtedly trigger someone to say, why is this song NOT in our repertoire?! The moments when Patty, the Camp Counselor and Master of Ceremonies, stood up on a cooler and genuinely thanked everyone for coming. He proclaimed that if you were invited, then you were supposed to be here, a part of this eternal brotherhood. And damnit, it felt right! Maybe I'm just susceptible to that kind of thing.
There was a lot of teasing, chiding, joking and even prodding, but no fighting or arguing. Animosity be damned, this was not the time or place. There were group "jam sessions" and fireside chats, and then there were more personal moments between a couple of friends. For a few days we had our own little society. And as in any society, people had jobs, responsibilities, and tasks. The efficiency level may not have been the optimal 88%, but it was close enough. And it was surprising to me how naturally people fell into their roles. Anyone without purpose was useless, and that's not something you want to be. When "wood duty" was called, you noticed who jumped up first. When food needed to be cooked, you saw who took to the pans. When a jam session was in order, you knew who went straight for the instruments and bustled up the buskers. And though "order" may be overdoing it a bit, there was certainly a hierarchy and natural inclination by individuals to fill certain positions. And when you look at it from that perspective, well, any sociologist would tell you, it's flippin fascinating!
So in that vein, why don't we take a trip over to Part 2 of the Weirdo Expose to analyze the roles, oddities, and comedies of a weekend at the Camp of Weird. I'll see you there.
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