Can you shoot a gun? Cos I fucking can’t!
This was taken by my friend, Eddie, on a camping trip in the Rockies. Obviously, I’m holding a pellet gun. I wouldn’t be looking so mean if the gun I was holding could have actually killed someone. To be fair though, it was me who shot the beer can off the stick from the farthest distance. You need a steady hand and a mean eye for that kind of thing, don’t you know.
On the trip, I remember thinking that I really wanted to see a Grizzly bear. Not up close, but from a distance. But not necessarily a safe distance. Anyways, we started with the cookin’ and the boozin’, like you do, and I charged myself with the job of keeping our drinks cold in a stream behind our campsite. The water was well chilly and had a brisk current that kept carrying cans of Keith’s off into the wilderness. So I set up a damn and put the rest of our booze in there to make friends with the cold. Bingo bango: a glacier-fed fridge.
Once it fell dark, I’d be heading back to the stream for more booze or to fire off a whizz, and I kept thinking to myself, “Fuck, what if a bear comes?! I’m not prepared!” And honestly, even with that pellet gun (which, in my hands, still does not suggest preparedness), I couldn’t have done a thing. No amount of running, yelling, holding still or crying would prevent a bear from knocking me around like a speed bag if I came face-to-face (or cheek to cheek). I suppose sometimes you’ve got to take disembowelment like a man.
This weekend, I’m going on a trip to Chicago to visit three old friends from university. These guys were some of the first people to have VdS tapes thrust into their hands (“Tell me what you think, Dude.”) and give me their feedback (“I think you’re gay.”). I even taught one of them to play guitar.
It should be a great trip; I’ve never been to Chicago. And nothing beats the early fall as a backdrop to a bender steeped in nostalgia and dick jokes. Here’s to making the past the present.