I'm outtahere

There's a lot of talk about American concentration camps these days. As someone who grew up in the long shadow of the Holocaust, I find it appalling. I'm so angry about the situation I can't even talk about it.

Besides, I think we should spend less time arguing about what to call these camps and more time finding ways of fixing a border crisis that was manufactured by our wotsit-face gammon for the sole purpose of ginning up his hatemongering base of deplorables.

You've probably seen the picture above floating around the interwebs.

It's three Japanese boys interned at the Manzanar Camp at the base of the Eastern Sierra mountains. The boys are staring out past the barbed wire fence towards Route 395, my favorite highway in America.

Suffice to say, it's an area I am deeply connected to. It's where my family and the families of friends have gone camping for the last 15+ years.

In fact, you look over the shoulders of the boys, 3 miles deep and about 7000 feet up the mountain, you can see our campground, Upper Grey Meadows.

That dark patch is a thick grove of oak trees fed by Onion Valley Creek, a fast moving stream of ice cold snow melt.

We are heading up this morning. A much-needed escape from the Constitution-fraying foolishness foisted upon us by a Fustian Fascist Fuckknuckle.

Now if you'll excuse me, we have to pack up the Acura.

"Just leave the sleeping bags. We need more room for the bourbon and rum."