Joshua Tree

One of the worst things about being gainfully employed is I start to slip into familiar patterns. I stop writing, I stop working out. Basically I come home from work all day and turn into a couch monster from 8 to midnight. Some nights I'll try to jack myself up and buy a coffee on the way home or a bottle of wine, but it's usually worthless. I WILL WRITE TONIGHT. I end up getting drunk to old reruns of Gossip Girl and then jerking off to Blake Lively's leaked nude photos and calling it a night. See that's what you do as a 25 year old ex frat guy living in LA. You destroy your nostrils on the weekends and you relax during the week. At some point that reverses, the weekends are used as rest but for now every week is just a grind until 5 pm on Friday when you can begin the 72 hour rave again.

There was a time in my life that I thought I was awesome because of this. Fuck ya, I go to the Santa Monica Pier and beach party on Thursdays while you losers watch Storage Wars, my life rocks! But it's nothing to necessarily be proud of, it is just what I do. I behave a certain way because I get a certain degree of cheap thrills by it. Some people get cheap thrills by blowing their loads in their wives every night and hoping to make her temporarily fat, but whatever, different strokes. However, not every Saturday can consist of taking 172 shots on a Yacht in Marina Del Rey. Sometimes you just have to get away for a bit. This past Saturday was one of those weekends.

After a brutal Vegas trip the week before, and an unforseen blackout in Manhattan Beach the evening before I vowed to go to a part of the world where I would be protected from my Lollapalooza FOMO. No tweets, no Facebook updates, no drunken calls from my old roommate's little sister. I wanted to get lost. And what better way to get lost than to go to a 1000 square mile national park in the middle of the desert? Saturday morning after waking up on a bathroom floor in Hermosa I drove home to Venice, packed up a blanket a change of clothes my bike and a case of beer and my roommate and I absconded to Joshua Tree national park. 3 hours, a brick of firewood and a pack of hotdogs later we had successfully pitched our tent at Hidden Valley and the first PBR's had been cracked.

The first order of business as always with camping was to meet the neighbors. It's always important to establish how loud you can be, if there is a potential to party with those nearby and if there is any potential for a sexual encounter. Most of my camping trips end with me in a tent with a chick but then again most of my camping trips take place at the Coke lot at the Indy 5. To our left were 6 graduated high school seniors on their last weekend together before college. They were all going to random schools: Utah, UC Riverside (middle of desert) UC Irvine (Orange County) UC Santa Cruz (Smoke a ton of weed) UCLA (Frat) and UC Santa Barbara (Surfer bros hangin loose.) They informed us they brought 10 cases of beer and an ounce of pot. We assured them we would return.

Next we decided to climb a 500 foot rock, because nothing is as bad ass as climbing a fucking mountain. Aron Ralston just shouldn't have slipped, he would probably still have his arm. I climbed the rock in sandals (poor choice) and suffered no such amputation. At the mountain's summit we found a couple promising Russian 6's. You quickly realize that when there is no civilization within hundreds of miles of you, a 6 is quite an impressive score. I don't think the Russians were feeling my vibe though because they never came to the party I invited them to.

After returning the the ground we took a long bike ride through the trails and dirt paths of the desert. It really is one of the most beautiful places on Earth, by the time we returned to base camp to catch the sunset though it was time to party. We quickly killed our case and it was time to hit up the teenagers. Of course as soon as we roll up to their base camp a park ranger arrived to bust up their party. How fucking classic to be part of a high school party bust at the age of 25, it felt like the Goodwin bust of '04. Ranger Rick only managed to abscond with about half of the bud and none of the beer so we ended up staying awake until 1 in the morning giving them college advice. Basically I gave them two rules: Join a frat and always say yes (I also urged them to give up smoking and start drinking more)

That's what you find in the desert. Grilling hot dogs, hiking trails and narrowly avoiding attacks from sidewinder snakes. By the time I returned back to LA Lollapalooza was over and the Newsroom was on...perfect timing. If you ever find yourself in Joshua tree do not underestimate the amount of drugs/booze necessary and make sure to find Hidden Valley #21. You will have your own smoking cave.

I had a rough week and sometimes you just need to get away. The desert is a good place to get lost with your thoughts. It's amazing how much fun you can have sitting on a rock and talking to some kid born in 1994 about WCW vs WWF and then kicking the shit out of him in beer pong or just hitting a roach and seeing a shooting star. I strongly recommend everyone do more camping or just make an effort to be more outdoorsy in general, I know I will. Electricity is overrated and so is a comfortable bed, getting piss drunk in the great outdoors with a 10 dollar tent will set you free.