A bunch of queens with easy-to-assemble tents, double-height, queen-sized air-mattresses (and other hyphenated-references as well!), 90 seconds away from a Safeway, all fighting to be next up on the portable speakers with their own iPods (it does an Apple body good), drinking cold beers and laughing our asses off.
In the middle (well, Northern Middle) of California, on a campsite that costs $222 per night, in a “resort” at the west end of the small town of Guerneville.
And here I sit in Coffee Bazaar (or, this weekend, Bizarre) with my little dream-catcher, sitting next to Marci at 7:30 in the morning drinking a latte made with rice milk.
You can take the boy out of the City—and now, apparently, he can bring the City with him.