Rainbows and Unicorns

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Hit the Trail

In my never-ending quest to understand the complexities of the world we live in, there’s one part of the newspaper I rely on to help it all make sense. The comics page. But there’s one strip I always skip. I’ve tried reading Mark Trail from time to time, but it’s never managed to hold my interest.

It doesn’t help that everything about it seems dated. Even the clothes look like they’re from the Johnson administration. The Andrew Johnson administration. Despite my best efforts, I’d inevitably abandon it in favor of a faster-paced activity. Like watching my fingernails grow.

Recently the Times Union rearranged its comics section and Mark Trail was given a special spot below the puzzles. With its presence nagging at me as I worked the Sudoku, I made a more concerted effort to read it. But the storyline was too boring. Even the Jumble, with answers like “snooze-fest,” “yawn” and “molasses” seemed to agree.

But it occurred to me the problem may be more than the slow pace. Mark and I, it turns out, have nothing in common. He loves seeking adventure in the great outdoors. I, on the other hand, believe if God had intended us to go out and experience nature, He never would have invented the Discovery Channel.

Then, while doing the cryptogram one day, I noticed something different about the strip. A man was bringing breakfast on a tray to a woman propped on pillows in bed. Now here’s a storyline I can relate to.

It turns out the man, Wes, was trying to convince the woman, Shelley, to go camping. Shelley tells him she doesn’t care for the outdoors. Either Wes is hard of hearing or else he’s fond of the celibate lifestyle because he insists she go camping anyway. Then he enlists Mark Trail and his wife, Cherry, to help. I’ll bet if they showed the next panel, Shelley would be trying to smother Wes with one of those pillows.

The next day’s strip shows a plane flying over mountains. Apparently Mark’s idea of a great camping spot is one that’s hours from the nearest first aid station. Or restroom. There’s a bear watching the tiny prop plane as it lands. I can’t help but notice it’s salivating like someone just rang the dinner bell. Good thing we can’t see inside the plane, because poor Shelley’s frantically searching the bottom of her purse for a stray Valium.

Shelley spends a lot of time at first complaining about being unable to use her cell phone. Which means room service is totally out of the question. Things quickly go downhill when, for some unknown reason, Wes and Mark fly off in the plane, leaving Shelley and Cherry alone at the campsite. At least Cherry has the decency to offer Shelley a drink. Unfortunately for Shelley, the drink turns out to be tea.

Then the plane crashes. Now, that is fun! The two men are forced to spend the night in the woods without food or shelter. A pack of wolves begins howling. It’s hard to believe Shelley would rather have stayed in the city than miss this. Wes is too injured to move. Given the luck they’re having, gangrene will soon set in. I’m sure they’ll all look back on this one day and have a good chuckle.

Another pack of wolves is howling near the women’s campsite. Shelley nervously calculates her chances of survival. Meanwhile, somewhere in the woods, Wes is calculating the size of the diamond he’s going to have to buy Shelley when they get home.

Soon, I’m tempted to forego the word search in favor of finding out what’s happening to Wes and Shelley. This week, the wolf pack chases two moose through the campsite. The moose knock a propane tank into the smoldering campfire. Suddenly there’s a huge explosion and everything is burning. Incredibly, Shelley still isn’t having a good time. Boy, talk about a stick in the mud.

Considering how hard the cartoonist is working to portray camping as a fun and safe activity, I can only wonder what Shelley will encounter next. Rattlesnakes? Avalanche? Sasquatch? I’ll have to keep reading to find out. Right after I do the crossword.

Happy Camper Is An Oxymoron

 I come from a long line of people who consider the phrase ”happy camper” to be an oxymoron. To put it simply, we Bitners are inside folk and I made sure to marry a man with similar proclivities. I assumed, then, that my husband and I would beget children who appreciated the value of memory foam pillows and indoor plumbing. I was wrong.

Recently my youngest has become fixated on the idea of camping outside. With me. In a tent. An item that, due to our love of the great indoors, we have conveniently neglected to own. Every time he brings up camping, I try to get him off the topic by offering him candy or turning the TV to Sponge Bob. Not a parenting technique I’m proud of, but one I was willing to resort to if it meant sleeping in my own bed. 

That is until the day my parental guilt took a direct hit from the Internet. I’d received an email announcing LL Bean was having a sale on all camping equipment.

            Malls I can do. They’re climate controlled, bear-free and the most dangerous part is looking for a parking space. Plus, the only equipment I needed was the piece of plastic in my wallet. So it was a no-brainer to head to Colonie Center for an adventure my nature-phobic DNA is better suited for: shopping.

            I was still on a buyer’s high when I returned home with my purchases – a tent, two sleeping bags and a self-inflating pillow. I only bought one pillow because I wasn’t sure it would work. If it did end up inflating, my son I would have to wrestle for it, but I was confident I could take him.

I also purchased a first aid kit and something called a Pocket Survival Pack. I bought the pack because it had seemed cocky to look at it in the store and then put it back like I didn’t need it. With my lack of camping know-how, I was in no position to tempt fate. I could picture rescuers one day discovering my lifeless body in the woods and lamenting, “If only she’d bought that pocket survival pack.” Besides, it was on sale.

            I decided I’d better figure out how to use the stuff while I was still safe and secure in my own home. It took me about ten minutes – no lie – to figure out how to open the survival pack, which turned out to be a simple zippered plastic pouch. This did not bode well for my chances in the wild.

            The first thing I noticed when I finally did get it open was that my pack was defective – no chocolate. Second thing I noticed was it was full of cool stuff I hoped I would never have to use – like a rescue whistle, signal mirror and waterproof fire starter.

Then I came across fishing line and fish hooks. I searched in vain in the pouch for the little tiny fisherman that will use them. Good Lord, I’m never going to survive if I have to catch my own food. There was also a scalpel blade, which, if I used it for slitting my wrists, would be a faster way to go than starving to death. There was even a pencil and notepaper.  Although it says you can use the paper when it’s wet, I’ll try to remember to write my farewell note before using the scalpel.

            Then I checked out the bonus lifesaving instructions. The first instruction said: Don’t Panic! Too late. Especially if I was reading it while stuck on the side of some mountain. Come to think of it, instead of a zippered plastic pouch, the whole thing should come in a brown paper bag so I’ll have something to breathe into to stave off the inevitable panic attack.

           

 With any luck, this retail excursion will be enough and just owning the gear will satisfy my son’s desire to go camping. And maybe if I stick the stuff in a closet, we can forget all about it. At least until the Visa bill arrives.

Take It Outside!

I try to spend as much time as possible inside because, well, it means I’m not outside. Outside is where it’s cold or hot or wet or dark or buggy or … you get the idea. And some of my favorite activities are best done inside. Like sleeping, eating watching TV, playing computer games, reading and, of course, drinking, which is a very versatile activity because it can be done in combination with the others. Except for maybe sleeping, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried.

 Staying inside has the added advantage of not requiring any fancy equipment like snowshoes or grappling hooks or pfd’s (not to be confused with pdf’s). All I need to be happy is some good food, some wine, a remote, my laptop and books. Lots of books.

Books allow me to experience the world without ever having to leave my comfy chair. And certain books, Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air and Into the Wild come to mind, clearly validate my decision to avoid nature as much as possible.

I also love magazines because, as much as I like to read, and I like it even better if the stuff I’m reading has pictures to go with it. Not to mention that reading magazines doesn’t take a lot of time, which frees me up to do as much eating, drinking and sleeping as possible. And with so many different magazine titles, there’s sure to be one to suit all tastes and interests.

I have my favorites. Food and Wine, naturally, is at the top of the list. House, House & Home, House Beautiful and TV Guide all appeal to my chosen lifestyle. The phobia collector in me appreciates Prevention, while Self appeals to my narcissistic side.

You have to be careful, though. Clean Eating is not about finishing off the leftover pizza in your refrigerator to make room for the cake. And Do It Yourself is not a handbook for parents looking for ways to get children to do more around the house. I’d subscribe to Wine Spectator if it weren’t for the “Spectator” part, which implies it’s about watching other people drink, thereby missing the whole point.

Recently, though, I came across a magazine that gave me chills just looking at it. It’s called Outside and its tagline is “Live Bravely.” Needless to say, I’m not a subscriber. But there was something about the in-your-face danger of its attractive cover that drew me to it, even though I knew it wasn’t right for me, much like the way men are drawn to the Kardashians.

I was intrigued by the cover story that promised to tell me how to endure my worst-case scenario. But the title “Could You Survive?” was written in a typeface so large and bold that it was clear the editors doubted my abilities without ever having met me. Okay, they may have a point.

It turns out, though, their idea of a worst-case scenario (avalanches and shark attacks) differed wildly from my idea of a worst-case scenario (a low battery warning on my iPhone during a power outage or finding out the DVR is full when I go to record the new season of Boardwalk Empire).

The article then goes on to give 27 tips that can save your life. Well, here’s a tip for those smug Outside writers who are so busy living bravely they don’t know when to stop: that’s 26 more tips than you need. The number one tip that can save your life is: Stay home. (Okay, supposedly most deaths occur in the home, but wouldn’t you rather slip in the bathtub than get mauled by a grizzly?)

As I continued to leaf through the magazine with articles about fitness routines and adventure vacations, not to mention ads for mountain bikes, GPS systems and hiking gear, I began to feel like a lazy lump of flesh who wasn’t worth the expenditure of energy my muscles required to hold the magazine much less the effort of the writers to write it. It was almost enough to make me want to pick up the latest issue of Travel and Leisure – which would be the perfect antidote if it weren’t for the “Travel” part.