this one time, at bandito camp...
Joshua Tree, this past weekend. Wow.
I'm kinda singed. I have thorn scratches all over my body. My ribs are sore from being smooshed into rocks. I am so, so, SO very delighted.
Between grapevining through a supermarket to the trilling strains of N Sync's "As Long As You Love Me" and garnering the whoops and dance moves of other patrons to sidling up to a fire with a case of Modelo and S'mores, this little weekend was exactly what I needed. Eric finally got a mexican-restaurant mariachi band to play some Frank Sinatra ('A Mi Manera', which made everybody feel like escaped mafiosi in paradise). We stopped at a ghetto little carnival by the side of the road and took him on his first Tilt-A-Whirl. We hiked long and hard, playing mountain goat for hours and hours.
There was a moment when all I wanted was a horse, Sharon Stone's costume in The Quick and The Dead, a time machine, and a six-shooter. I could be happy, out there at bandito camp.
Eric - every time I see you, you get cooler. And cooler. And cooler. Austie, Phat - you were missed.
...and everything to the soundtrack of nineties gangsta rap and Royksopp.
Can you think of a better way to roll?