J-Tree Lost Weekend Millenial VisionKwest 2.0
"You Want It Bad, You Get it Bad.
The Worse You Want It the Worse You get it."
Sri Mahand IsFast.
As was forecast by 'Casino Bingo' and 'Draw Poker', It Came To Be [r][tm].
This weekend's "J-Tree Millenial VisionKwest" at the Joshua Tree Nat Monument exceeded all boundaries of good taste and methane threshholds.Witness the following from a recovered- memory diary:
>Woke up real early, went to work, drank coffee,
>talked on phone, went to office burfday partee, then
>got in the car and drove 4 hours out to Joshua Tree. Woke up and
>filled my bottles and traded split info with all the other
>CRS JoggerDaddies I saw out there, including Bucky Kibble III,
>We started to run on the Poontang Trail but soon got lost etc etc.
He missed the boat. Sad to say, this diarist took a wrong turn, and ran in slow circles around the Big Casino off I-10. This is the same I-10 that passes near Tunica, MS. But he's been enrolled in a class for the remedially dull. Overcrowding is common there.
The Real Action was at Site B3 in the Jumbo Rocks Campground. A Fred Flintstone Wilderness of Pain awaited all that would Dare to Ride The UltraSnake across the Sonoran eco-clime of mind. Casino Bingo and Draw Poker had convened a Synod of the Blau Umlaut Kult. Tiny rodents and birds watched from the granular safety of Dildo's Cave in the Frodo Hills. Golem had the weekend off.
But here in the patriarchal Frantic postmodern time frame, it was fast-forward all the way. Exercising max caloric usage, critical mass was achieved at a breathless rate. Once we got the WeberKettle fully deployed, we tipped in several cubic yards of anthracite, and the BBQ was underway. Casino Bingo took notes while Draw Poker worked his Magic with his $12.99 Leadville souvenir hatchet. Cryptic Honky Shamanic Incantations of "Give it UP for Big Poppa!" "You gonna like this!" and the ur-primal "huuuuuuuhhhhhhhh!!!!!!" were essential to this process. Thus Reluctant firewood was reduced to compliant splinters. Chicks were diggin' it, totally.
Dorkness fell, as it must. Eventually Miss 'Giftshop Turquoise' arrived. And she too was brought to the flickering circle. All eyes fastened on the fire, which is a crude way of describing Paleolithic Multimedia, or perhaps Lascaux Son et Lumiere [good for redeemable Clovis Points]. For all eyes were on the Next Day, the 30-mile Run Across The Monument.
The full complement of We Few, We Happy Few, were gathered as the rosy-fingered dawn shouldered it's way over a wine-dork sea. By the time it got to Phoenix, we'd been rising. And we gathered together an carpooled to the Start, whence to contradance the sun in it's westward gyre. Invocations were made to the Gawd of PowerBars and Salt, and We began our Kwest Under An Azure Sky and persistent North breeze.
Very quickly, Balto, Red Headed Sled Dog succeded in establishing complete and total hegemony over the hapless Casino Bingo and Draw Poker. They were as dust in the wind, [if not wayward sons] who would cry no more...No more! A pillar o' dust Like Unto A Horse With No Name marked the advance of Balto. The progress of Bingo & Poker were stalked by invisible ducks. The Mysteries of the World never cease to Amaze.
With crystalline brow and parched demeanor, we were in the thrall of the Carmen Electrolytes. By sundown our transit was complete. At 5 hours and 35 minutes by Patriarchal Chronology...It was Done. And We Rested. We were now truly "We Phew, We Happy Phew".
Another firelit circle was joined. More Molly Hatchetry and incantations were necessary. The WeberKettle was fired up yet again, glowing cherry red as it's purpose became clear, as through a glass dorkly. Flesh that was raw was seared by free-range coals. The fat was in the fire, and the cat was in the cradle. Insert something about the man in the moon and a silver spoon.
But all is not chowing down and split-chat. This group did not lack for pedagogic wonderment. The multitudes was astonished and amused by the transcendant channeling of Casino Bingo's and Draw Poker's "Teletubbies Firelite Shadow Theatre". Jumbo Rocks provided a geologic scrim for the cartoonish silhouettes of unspecified Teletubbies emitting one-word repetitions of what was later decoded to be [in squeaky falsetto] "hummers!", "hummers!". For erudite contrast, Balto unleashed a Shaggy Dog of epic proportions. Ms Jenine played the flute and stilled the savage beasts. Then the maelstrom of degeneracy was broached yet again, and decorum vanished to the thwacks of pig-bladders and whoopie-cushions.
I Got Newt, Babe.
Sunday morning witnessed the Final Gathering. More than just camp was broken, which left few dry-eyed. In closing, when boot-heels hafta be wanderin' then it really doesn't matter, does it now... Mrs Jones?