Surfing Ruined My Life

Tell me that does not look like the face of a happy camper? Circa 2006

A fresh quarter in the UCB franchise begins now. Yeah I know its fucking three weeks late into the game.  I’m sorry things have been crazy here in Lisanti Land, both good and bad.  Some amazing things have happened and there will be a blog about it soon.  It’s going to be a long one so bring your attention span.  This first UCB of the season makes of victor of Scotty B, who threw down the topic Camping.  Since I just got back from camping at San Onofre State Beach down in Orange County (see Orange County Can Keep Lowers blog) it seemed like the perfect topic to delve into.  Scotty gets 1.5 points for scoring this incipient blog.

I fucking hate camping.  Not even a little bit.  I would rather get hit across the shins with the metal end of a rusty shovel then sleep in a tent.  There is nothing mystical about it.  Its uncomfortable, always either too hot or too cold and for whatever reason more times then not I wake up with so much moisture around me I feel like I am in the rain forest.  The only time I can justify camping is if I am in the middle of nowhere at some beautiful far away outpost where no accommodation exists and the stain of man left far behind.

Otherwise you can keep that bullshit.  When I talk about camping a Winnabago does not count.  One can not call pulling up to a spot in the woods in a giant RV that is nicer then my apartment, with a satellite dish on the roof and full kitchen and restroom camping.  I don’t know what to call it.  Maybe just plain dumb.  I hate those fucking things, their bull shit.  You don’t know how many times I have almost been run off the road by some yahoo who has no idea how to drive something of that size?  Too many to count.

Unfortunately for a person who can’t stand camping I have spent way way way too many nights in tent sleeping on the ground in my life.  Between budget Hatteras trips, to making my money get me further while competing at pro events to feral surf trips.  Remember, most places will let you pitch a tent for $10 or less.  Shoots I am pitching a tent in my pants for free right now.  If you are really an intrepid soul you can always go off into the bush and squat somewhere in your tent for free.

Sindia and I almost did that in Oz along this sketch dirt road in the middle of a national forest there, but after setting up the tent and spending ten minutes we had thoughts of some psycho killer coming out and hacking us to pieces (that was before I wanted to get stabbed).  You want to know what camping means to me?  Aches and pains, dirty, stinky bathrooms, adverse experiences with bugs, out door cold water showers (if they even provide showers), dirt, ghetto cooking, sleep depravation, and usually sickness.  I am not an Indian. I like to have a roof and four walls over my head.

Call me a little prissy bitch.  I am sorry but I like to take long luxurious showers (I tap the hot water out 90% of the time), and prim myself.  I don’t like being dirty and there being mud and sand everywhere.  Most of all I like having a bed!  Fuck camping, I will be at the four seasons, although in my case the reality of the situation would be the Holiday Inn.

I think this says it all folks.

Another type of tent pitching.