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Poachers

This story was on CNN dot com the other day:

This is a great picture because it captures the person looking very poacher-like, crouching behind the garbage can.

What makes the picture better? Maybe an eye patch. A small dog with only 3 legs by the poacher's side. Maybe a ragged-dressed child peeking from the other garbage can, like a lookout. Maybe more elements of danger, like a sharpened stick or weapon of some kind.

But it's good the way it is.

My Uncle poaches garbage. He calls it "sidewalk shopping", and he makes amazing finds. His prime hunting grounds are the student neighborhoods. He claims they throw away things they just don't want to carry back home. TV's, coffee tables, food. Yes, he will take food, like boxes of Mac and Cheese that are still in the box.

I can't image what he takes that he doesn't talk about.

The White House

I went to the White House. I did. Really. Walked right up to it.

We weren't supposed to be there. We didn't have the foresight to apply for the background check 6 months in advance. The DC trip was more spur of the moment. And it had nothing to do with my supposed Canadian ties.

A kindly volunteer at the White House visitor center asked if we (not the royal we, but me, the wife and kids) were doing a tour of the WH. We said no, so she gave us tickets to garden tour, which would get us very close, just not inside. We had just seen a movie of the inside of the WH, so who cares about that. It was like we had been there. That's yet another reason why TV is so great.

After a search of our bags by very serious security officers, we were allowed to walk the driveway where dignitaries from all over the world arrive to the President's crib. Very cool to be there up close and see the place where people who I can't name but know are important have walked, talked, and some even fell down. A whole crowd of riffraff roamed around, snapping pics and pretending like the perfect lawn wasn't impressive. Sure, but where are the pretty dandelions? Got you there, WH gardeners!

My son tried to get me to touch the building on a dare, but a guard in body armor and a really freaky gun backed me up with a withering gaze. His gun was cool, it looked like this:


It was 90- degrees, and the guy was wearing a full suit of black swat gear. And the president wasn't even in town, he was on a rare vacation.
But everybody acted like one false move and he would waste us without a second thought. Like he was swatting a fly. I felt expendable.



You've seen pics of the WH, so I won't post any, except for one place that came as a surprise, the WH Tennis Court.

The sign says, "White Soled Shoes Only". In 2008. I know, right?

WTF

I'll tell you what that is - that's fucking hilarious.

Going Natural

Camping is a primitive activity, stirring instincts within us to build shelter and fire and eat meat. And did I mention you get to burn stuff?

Last weekend was our first outing of the year, kicking it outdoors on Putnum Pond in the Adirondacks. The excitement is thick in the air as we pulled up to our site. The dogs barking from the next site over really lent itself well to the whole concept of "getting away". They had their campsite set up like a squatters paradise, with a big camper, dog cages, laundry hanging everywhere and giant blue tarps blanketing everything from above. All that was missing was a poorly-written sign with "Yard Sale". Somehow I envisioned their yard back in New Jersey looked exactly like this every day of the week.

I pulled the car so it was between them and us, which left glorious, raw forest on the other 3 sides. I asked the kids what the first step to making a camp was. "Roasting marsh mellows!" was the reply. "You'd both last 10 minutes in the wild. " I said, shaking my head. "You need shelter before smores!"

Modern tents technology is amazing. Once you have the tent removed from it's sheath, you toss them on the ground and they pop into shape. I can still hear the cursing and yelling my dad unleashed upon us as we struggled to set up our tent as children, all those aluminum poles flopping and bending and taking forever to put up. Ah, good times!

After shelter comes fire on the survival list. Who doesn't love fire? My kids would collect sticks for a week if they get to build a fire with them. Once the flame is underway, then the game starts, which I call "Will this burn?". Almost always the answer is "Yes it will". You can watch the way a person stares at a fire and witness a dna-based truths about humans. Kids, adults, they all get mesmerized at an open flame. The flickering orange flame soothing and calming us because we have achieved fire. Then the urge to find things to burn kicks in, and we forage for more sticks, logs, old furniture, tires, whatever.

After a hike and a giant meal with my hockey team (it was a camping weekend that served as out end-of-season party) we sat around the bonfire, tucked in fleece and other warm apparel. The bug spray was keeping the pests at bay and the fire's flickering and crackling (along with the satisfaction of the feast) put everyone into a trance, all of us lost in our own thoughts, which drifted around, swirling and dancing until they combined with the smoke rising through the canopy of trees headed for the black sky.

Even the New Jersey folks next door turned off the Bon Jovi after a while, as if maybe the peace and quiet could be tolerated for maybe an hour or so. That was until I realized they had just gone inside the camper to watch tv.

Ah, roughing it.