Never Enough Long March Reports Department

For the three or four people who read this blog and yet do not know about my involvement in the Church of the SubGenius, amongst my other activities is hosting a modest local campout and retreat called Dobbs' Long March. You can find out about other activities by visiting the Yahoo! Group for the Seattle SubGenius Union of Clenches & Crackpots.

I was worried this Long March would be a wash, since I knew a lot of folks wouldn't be able to make it, due to finances, new jobs, "natural" disasters, RULES, and various creative excuses.

It WAS a wash--a wash of slackfulness that could soothe the most hideous iron spike of a headache. For, while there were only eight people there, those eight happened to slide right into a perfect balance of leisure that proved therapeutic despite the chilly nights.

(Note to self: I will have boots to wear next year.)

Special kudos must go to Rev. ElectriKali, her spousal unit Chuck, and her sister the great AuntiKrist. I've never seen anyone bring a microwave oven to a campout before! But more impressively, they brought a wonderful propane assembly that allowed plenty of grilling, boiling, white-lighted awe that kept us all well fed and made me covet with an intensive geekiness I never thought I'd feel for Coleman products.

(Another note to self: I will have propane appliances next year.)

I've also never seen one of those grilling machines at a campout before, praise "Carl", but I must admit I was duly impressed with how fast they can cook a nice, juicy burger or a tender cut of steak. Truly, this was the Cookout March. We got slack AND we got food, and yet nobody was killed, except symbolically, using thin pieces of cardboard with scary monsters. I'm proud to report that Rev. Dr. Big Boy claimed first blood--and LAST blood too! With enough guidance and encouragement, he may well yet become a scheming fiend capable of pulling all wool over all eyes. Or maybe we'll all just blow it off and see Big Boy choose slack over all else.

Oh, I should also mention that Mount Phloighd is no longer being isolated from the rest of the campground. Its defenses have been ripped away, and now anybody can climb up to the top and have a generous sniper's view of the whole campground. No longer will this assemblage of rocks serve as a place of exile, but must now be thrust deeply into our very subconscious as a literal high point of any Long March.

We may slightly adjust the date for next year, but one thing is for certain: The Long March is here for the long haul, and next year's can only be better than the last.