In Which Irony Is Avoided Altogether

Hastings, MN--Again, right outside of Hastings (the name is reminiscent of Hibbing, if the town isn't) at the St. Croix Bluffs Regional Park. “Regional” isn't a political definition, so I'm not sure how that gets handled, although evidence (i.e. a park survey) would indicate that administration is at the county level. “Regional” my ass. Sorry, I've spent a good deal of the evening listening to complaints about bureaucracy and nepotism and drinking beer (the complaints did not extend to the latter, which was from an excellent WI micro, New Glarus Brewing Co.), and these experiences seem to be revealing themselves in what again appears to be a pretty straight stream-of-consciousness post, the obvious problem being that my consciousness is nowhere near as interesting or realistic or fucking archetypal as that of a Daedalus or Darroway or Compson (my drink-addled brain tends toward what Hemingway might have written had he even once in his drink-addled existence written a stream-of-consciousness but perhaps he knew what I do not, that drink makes for an extremely tedious read, whatever flashes it may show, no matter how lucid the writer).

And here again I show little respect for my audience. My parents, bless them, most certainly do not want to read a transcription of their beloved son's mildly intoxicated thoughts (Ed.: should I even bother editing tonight, or will His Majesty exercise restraint for once in his goddamn life and not post this at all?). I think you know the answer, and His Majesty might just remove his right to decapitate his Editor if you know what I mean.

Sorry about that, he gets out of line sometimes. And now my drinking companions (both of whom are more or less respectable, though one or maybe even both might object to such a description for various reasons) have retired, leaving me with about half a delicious, delicious beer to finish. And I already brushed my teeth! But it really is quite excellent beer...

I think mostly I'm excited to be back on the River, back in our odd little routine-that-isn't-routine (my Performance Studies professors might have had something to say about that little formulation, but there are of course advantages and freedoms that come with attainment of a degree, even if money doesn't). As nice as certain qualities of city existence are, I think I wasn't letting myself enjoy them because I knew that it would be back to camp life sooner or later and now that we're back, I'm happy. It's difficult to express, or to understand, just how I feel about camping so consistently. On the one hand, I don't think my underlying attitudes about camping, which some of you will know from personal experience to be “resist at all costs”, have changed much, if at all; on the other hand, there's something about this trip specifically--being with people I don't know well but that I've grown to like, doing something every day, treating it as a means of traveling rather than as an end in itself, etc.--that has rendered temporarily insignificant my prejudices against the practice (the practice being camping). And that's all I have to say about that.

Pre-Post Scriptum: As regards my previous two posts, the underlying point, if it wasn't clear, was that I really don't know what to make of all those problems and I just need to think about them some more.

P.S.: I finished the beer. Spotted Cow, indeed (Ed.: what the hell is wrong with you?).

P.P.S.: Today was Sept. 1. We started Aug. 1. Yeah. And we reached our second state today. It was not planned, but we spent exactly one month in MN alone (if we ignore the fact that the Gregorian month is not an exact measurement etc etc etc).