Stairway to Kevin

Mini reunion back at home this Easter weekend. I must know a hundred Kevins but there's only one saved in my phone as just "Kev." 

Kev understands the important stuff, like that stereo systems need to be assembled from components, and you need a turntable. He has a vinyl collection that cost more than my education and has been arguably more influential.

I figured out somewhere around 1998 that Kevin doesn't translate. If you want to listen to music the way Kev does, he kind of needs to be there. If you try to do it in your truck, with other friends, they might kick up a bit of resistance when you play "Stairway to Heaven" four consecutive times and tell them, "This time REALLY LISTEN to the drums. JUST THE DRUMS."

Modern, grownup, non-Kev friends are liable to protest, "I can't listen to it the way you listen to it because I'm not a 15-year-old boy."

Fine. If you need me I'll be over here playing air drums in all the bands I've made up in my head. Internal combustion engine. Apex predator. Face for Radio.

Go ahead and judge me. There are two kinds of people in this world, air musicians and liars.

Bear in mind, all of this is a significant upgrade from my earliest aspiration, which was to be the girl on the car in the Whitesnake video.

Alternate titles for this post included "Kevin can wait," "Just like Kevin," and of course, "Kevin isn't too far away," RIP Jani Lane.

The Mosquito Coast

I’ve been accepted to a certificate program at Boston College. After glancing at urban sublets - and noticing that, understandably, few are available for only one month smack in the middle of summer - I’ve decided to camp for the summer.

The nearest campground is in a national park fifty minutes north of the city. (Technically the Harbor Islands campground is five minutes nearer, but the ferry is $17 each way and for that price I might as well stay in a youth hostel). 

I’m excited. I know there will be days when it feels like a hassle, but I’m not doing it to save money. I’m doing it because it feels like the most head-clearing adventure I can have while going to classes each day. School ends at 3:30pm and I’ll be out of the city before the traffic and out in the woods for each long evening. And I sleep like a baby when I camp, usually from sundown to sunup - plenty of time to head back in to the city before the 9am morning class. The campground has showers, of course, but if I want to freshen up at midday or after school I can always buy a day pass to the campus gym.

The distance is a bit of a pain, but otherwise, I prefer this plan to getting an apartment. I wanted to sleep outside all summer; it’s what I’d be doing in my truck if I hadn't gotten into school.

The program will have a social component, it’s true, but I doubt it will be every evening. For the first two weeks at least I can probably retreat to the campground without missing anything, and after that I’m sure now and then I can find a floor to crash on. Even saying that appeals to the traveling circus in me. Again, it’s not about the money. I just like living this way.

The lead-up to my July posts will consist, as ever, of lots of lists. There will be discussions of which camp gear to bring and what to leave behind so the car doesn’t feel too crowded. There will be investments made in bug spray. I bought a soft tonneau cover so I don’t have to empty the truck bed all the time; my next highly contemplated purchase will be a travel urinal.

I have the bladder of a sixty-eight year old. What can I say? I’ve always been precocious.