Back home again
Jul. 6th, 2008 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snousleGood to be back. I didn't take a lot of pictures this trip, and most of what I did take was just pretentious BS that is more of an embarrassment than anything. But I did obtain one sexy shot of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mudcub getting his head shaved:
The Billies gathering at Saratoga Springs was kind of "eh". It's a great and wonderful thing for certain people, I just don't happen to be one of them. I guess there are a lot of questions about the cost, which are responded to very appropriately with full disclosure - to the point of having poster-sized spreadsheets and charts posted at the registration table. And yes, I can see where my $120 a night for camping goes, and why despite that they still need people to volunteer for washing dishes. But having seen that, I'm not sure that keeping the whole thing afloat is something I'm especially interested in. It seems something of an obligation simply because it's local. And on paper, it looks great. But leaving there for an entirely different camping experience at Tim's was still a relief.
I was actually a bit disenchanted with two things, one being the imposed rituals, the other being the conceit that all newcomers have "joined" the club merely by virtue of attendance. Both left me feeling ambushed, and needing to escape.
I've gotten all gushy about the Grunge Guys gathering before, and it's easy to do so again. Timing aside, it really is the apotheosis of the American ranch experience. Hay bale seating, an outdoor kitchen, washing-up in the irrigation ditch, watermelon, smoked ribs, blackberries on the vine, langorous dogs, clouds of flies... the cowboy mythology and all that goes with it makes no sense whatsoever until you include the real, historical constraints of being filthy, unmannered, and not welcome inside the house. Hardly one step above the animals. Then it's beautiful.
General angst and depression have kept me from feeling particularly horny lately, and it kills me to think of the opportunities that I've let pass by in the past few weeks for simple lack of emotional energy. There were some ridiculously hot guys at the gathering, including the daddybear I ran into at Gold Beach a few weeks ago. But still, there is no greater pleasure than looking long and long at sweaty, dirty men. Well, except maybe for smelling them.
Despite having been a novelty-seeking person most of my life, I find myself more and more drawn to the same things with the same people at the same time every year. Nothing would please me more at this point than for this continuity to go on indefinitely.
mudcub getting his head shaved:The Billies gathering at Saratoga Springs was kind of "eh". It's a great and wonderful thing for certain people, I just don't happen to be one of them. I guess there are a lot of questions about the cost, which are responded to very appropriately with full disclosure - to the point of having poster-sized spreadsheets and charts posted at the registration table. And yes, I can see where my $120 a night for camping goes, and why despite that they still need people to volunteer for washing dishes. But having seen that, I'm not sure that keeping the whole thing afloat is something I'm especially interested in. It seems something of an obligation simply because it's local. And on paper, it looks great. But leaving there for an entirely different camping experience at Tim's was still a relief.
I was actually a bit disenchanted with two things, one being the imposed rituals, the other being the conceit that all newcomers have "joined" the club merely by virtue of attendance. Both left me feeling ambushed, and needing to escape.
I've gotten all gushy about the Grunge Guys gathering before, and it's easy to do so again. Timing aside, it really is the apotheosis of the American ranch experience. Hay bale seating, an outdoor kitchen, washing-up in the irrigation ditch, watermelon, smoked ribs, blackberries on the vine, langorous dogs, clouds of flies... the cowboy mythology and all that goes with it makes no sense whatsoever until you include the real, historical constraints of being filthy, unmannered, and not welcome inside the house. Hardly one step above the animals. Then it's beautiful.
General angst and depression have kept me from feeling particularly horny lately, and it kills me to think of the opportunities that I've let pass by in the past few weeks for simple lack of emotional energy. There were some ridiculously hot guys at the gathering, including the daddybear I ran into at Gold Beach a few weeks ago. But still, there is no greater pleasure than looking long and long at sweaty, dirty men. Well, except maybe for smelling them.
Despite having been a novelty-seeking person most of my life, I find myself more and more drawn to the same things with the same people at the same time every year. Nothing would please me more at this point than for this continuity to go on indefinitely.
