Survival of the Shitest

Discovered by trial and much error that I don't do camping.

It may have helped if I hadn't used a knock-off of Bonaroo as my first attempt.

But the main thing is that I didn't have a damn clue what I was doing.

This statement goes for both camping AND social interaction with what turned out to be a squalid mob of drugged-out quasi-hippies.

I don't speak the drug language, so when I didn't understand what they were saying, I declined automatically.

The exception to this rule was a older, strapped band tag-along who fed me mushrooms nearly all of the last day there because I was damn bored of being
hot
sticky
bitten
and assaulted by funk music around the clock.

So, I tripped for about 12 hours, and then allowed myself to come down, cut ties, and go home.

The major problem, I think, is the fact that for all the quasi-hippie preaching about everyone "getting in touch with Nature", No one actually was.

the Generators,
amplifiers,
litter,
campfires,
and cases upon cases of beer were simply evidence to me that


even those people who claim that they are in touch with mother nature are not really touching her nicely.