Sitting here, pretending to decompress but I have nothing to decompress from. Sweet music the past couple of days, things I haven't heard before. I'm really relaxed now, now that I'm back at Rose's, my laptop set up like a beacon in the night and pepsi melting ice in a glass at my wrist. The cigarettes are burning in the ashtray and I keep thinking about men that read books and silly conversations in the middle of small forests.

It's amazing what sticks in my brain, sometimes.

I just got back from a weekend of camping (sort of). In my apparent brainlessness, I didn't check with my friend Cris as to which campsite she'd be at before leaving London on Friday. So I ended up driving around the whole camping place, smoking furious cigarettes and listening to The Twilight Singers on a loop, looking for a familiar tent. After an hour and a half, I gave up and went to a shitty motel for 50 bucks a night, sleeping on a dubious bed and reading The World According to Garp.

but lights out feels so good don't spare my fate...I finally connected with friends on Saturday and set up my sleeping bag next to my ipod (har, har). I spent the day reading in a camp chair and enjoying the sound of leaves in the warm air, festival music filtering up towards me like a little wave.

Later on that night, Cris and I went looking for her musician friends, we found a hot campfire and settled down to late night jamming. I sat next to a stand-up bass player who looked like a long drink of cool water. Alcohol smoothed over my rough edges and I blended in better than I thought I might.

Then I met this guy who had the sweetest voice and was shyer than I am. Thank god for beer.
Cristine made fun of the fact that I bought this enormous jar of pickles, but I'm too inexperienced to plan for camping. I, of the view that food should come in the form of takeout at 3 in the morning. So...I gave them away to the guy who had a tent full of cucumbers and pepperoni.

that would be Jesse Reid. Although I may be spelling his name wrong. And to his credit, he didn't fall down once carrying that jar of pickles. No matter how much I teased him.

soldiers filled the hotels on the weekends...
Then Sunday, I couldn't sleep in because the tent was in the sun and I was roasting, so I got up semi-early, scratched all the mosquito bites I acquired the night before and had a fried breakfast down by the stage. Then I parked my ass in a camp chair and listened to music all day. I made my escape at 5 and checked into that same shitty motel for 12 hours of sleep on a mattress with A & E on in the background. Dr. Pepper on my bedside table and the crumpled cigarette pack sitting in the ashtray.

Here's Cris, laughing at me, probably.


So, camping was fun, meeting new people was ok, but I totally do not dig sleeping on the ground. No matter how comfy my sleeping bag was. Cris tells me to stop pining for John Malkovich so I guess I should concentrate on something else. Maybe next time I'll sneak around and leave notes on tents and take part in the scavenger hunt.

Stay tuned for more vacation adventures like notes on sleeping in and staying up too late. Love,G.

Jacksonville Skyline - Whiskeytown
Pussywillow - The Twilight Singers

Labels: music, vacation