Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Fat Boys w/ Beach Boys - Wipeout

Ah, memories of the summer of 1987...the best of times, the worst of times. The worst being the 5 weeks I spent at a military summer camp just outside Phila...Look. You can stop laughing. It really did happen. I think. Yep, it happened. You can't manufacture memories that for kids could be so traumatic.

Tragically, the same thing happened precisely four years prior. I remember that first night at camp in 1983 so well: my brother and I getting our stuff packed in the barracks, other kids much rowdier and wilder than us going apeshit all over the place, and the two of us kinda cowering in our bunks, immediately regretting signing on to this military camp thing because...why? Because our grandfather was the head honcho of the entire place, and he could get us in for free (and my brother in despite the fact that he was two years younger than the minimum accepted age). Not a good reason, folks, if you're looking to make friends. The morning after, we both wandered around the front of the barracks, all bleary-eyed, like it was some really fucked-up dream, all washed out like The Day After.

And military camp ain't a whole buncha fun. Counselors are hired for their sadistic tendencies. They love to make miscreants chew and swallow cigarettes while putting them through lots of physical training. And they're really pissed - probably because they didn't make the cut to become drill sergeants, so they have to deal with kids instead. The cool kids are the really gung-ho militaristic kids...the ones who can't wait to get into the army or whatnot. Then you have the kids who are so fucked in the head, the parents don't know what else to do with them, so they send them to military camp, hoping that'll teach them some discipline. (Note: This runs the gamut from spineless bedwetters to deranged psychotics whose parents dropped them on their head as a kid. And believe me...these two together do not make good bunkmates, as I witnessed across the hall from me: Faust and Nemkov.) Anyhoo, my brother and I survived those five looong weeks, swearing never to return. Oops.

Anyhoo, 1987 was a bit more tolerable. You get older, you get more laid back, things are cooler. The counselors seem to tolerate a lot more attitude. And the tunes get more fun and wacky. They didn't get any more stoopid than this, though. Enjoy.

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