I would like to write about the Islamic Community Center to be built near Ground Zero, but when I start to try and think about it logically, I can feel my brain gaskets start to overheat and I really want to avoid a headsplosion. So instead, let me tell you about how I went camping, and how much I love camping.

Curtis and I drove up to Mt Hood National Forest on Saturday after we both got done at work. We knew we weren’t going to be able to get the best spot ever, but surely there would be something. Nope. Not a single spot. We had to drive all the way to Kingfisher — the last site before everything turns into weird logging roads to nowhere — and even it was full. Thankfully some people had reserved a site and never shown up so we were able to talk our way into it. Bought a bag of firewood since it took us so long to get up there, stopping at every site along the way, so it was too dark to scrounge for sticks.

I can’t believe how full the campsites were. I always feel kinda white trash for camping on the Clackamas, but apparently there are lots of us. By the way, where do yuppies and hipsters camp? Or do they just backpack?

Anyways, this is a pretty boring topic because literally nothing funny happened. We almost didn’t get a spot but then we did. Camp host Chuck was friendly and actually completely competent at his job, which is a first for me. No sweat lodge or weird overly personal sob stories. The bif was even freshly painted and free of dead bugs. Neat! I really miss being at camp all summer long, so it is good to get back to the forest occasionally and just be amongst the trees.

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