The topic for today is: Camping.
Let me tell you kids, when I was hanging out in the desert, I never settled for very long in one place.
I always had to pack up what little worldly possessions I had (my sandals, my menorah, my tunic, perhaps a goat-skin bag full of water) and schlep them to the next desert town.
And so what confuses me is people who do this today and then refer to it as a vacation.
They leave the comfort of their homes (something I never knew—thanks, Dad!) and voluntary drag all their tchotkes to some remote area.
“Hmm, let’s see what would be a nice way to take a break from work and get away from it all. I know, let’s drag a bunch of stuff to some dirt, unpack it, sit around, then pack it all up again at night. And let’s do that for seven days! Woo-hoo!”
And then they are referred to as “happy campers.” Oy vey.
Now perhaps this is an effort for people to reconnect with nature. I get that; my Pops has made some fairly interesting things in that regard.
But may I suggest perhaps going for a nice walk? Because reproducing your living and kitchen in the dirt just seems a little meshuggah to me.
But what do I know? I didn’t have much choice.