Not the Fringe of Nature, or How I didn’t go camping with Brian

Not the Fringe of Nature, or How I didn’t go camping with Brian

Not the Fringe of Nature, or How I didn’t go camping with Brian Feldman

I didn’t go camping with Brian Feldman. He asked, I considered, but ultimately decided “no.” Like many life decisions, it grew easier as time passed, and I’m completely comfortable with missing what was considered the most exclusive event of the 2010 Orlando Fringe. If you missed the media hype, Feldman rounded up a giant Mini Cooper and took three art lovers camping in Wikiwa Springs State Park. The campground wasn’t one of those KOA places with showers and sewer hookups; it was a patch of Florida scrub, not that different from what greeted Ponce De Leon when he went searching for the Fountain of Youth.

Camping has always been one of my biggest fears. It’s not lack of internet access or Lyme disease; it’s not the idea of eating burnt weenie sandwiches and Smores and having to think up a ghost story. It’s not even having to pee in the poison Ivey. It revolves around the idea that’s we’ve spent thousands of years inventing fire and electricity and insulation, and I see no reason to give that up, not even for novelty’s sake. And I’ll admit the following: I dislike and distrust nature. Keep your roaming buffaloes and tumbling tumble weeds, and give me Park Avenue. Sure, I’ve driven the Blue Ridge parkway and I even spent two weeks with my in-laws in Maine, but that’s about my limit. When my choices are a big party and easy access to beer and fried foods, versus staring at whatever wondrous heavens peek thought the sky glow of Orlando, I’ll take the party. If you want to see stars, that’s why we built the Hubble.

So I spent Friday night watching Canadian monologists and transgendered glitter boys and some sort of crack pot literary theory told in Iambic pentameter. I didn’t have to buy a sleeping bag or a working GPS, my ghost story will remain untold for another year, and I had the kabobs and an ESB for dinner. I’ll catch Feldman’s next local event (He’s in New York right now trying to outstare anther Performance Artist) but if you want a report on what really went on that fateful Friday, click here. I was told there were hardly any zombie cannibal rednecks.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked with *

Cancel reply

Recently on Ink 19...

From the Archives