The Ira Glass Infatuation Post/This American Life Roundup: “Notes on Camp”

While Jewcamp never held a happy domain in my conscious memory, this week’s Life made me reconsider my position for a new one: that I owe everything about my feminine mystique and my affinity for a hottie with a Jewish body to the summertime experiences in the Maccabee-riddled Wisconsinite woods. Without the eight weeks of overnight exploits among my Chicago Northshore Bitch brethrennes, I might not have found the golden yen for intellectual sugardaddy Ira Glass that satisfies primal Bambi today.

Lessons learned,organized by this week’s Life notes:

Note 1: And evenHitler had a girlfriend who he could always call

Lesson: Be game to letting the collective wild imagination devour your innocence.

Counselor David Himmel is a king amongst men at his summer camp-complete with teenybopper fanclub, musical prowess, and real life advice for squeaky boys who can’t quite mack it yet.

I have to say that the girls in my cabin were some of the horniest beasts I’ve met to this day. Aside from providing me the most sacrilegious mix of epitomic girlishness and bow-chica-wow-wow, the mini Jewesses put plenty of dirt in their flirt with such nasty meanderings without yet having sampled a Hebrew National.

It didn’t take long to form our own teenage fan clubs for the potsmoking foxes running the place who knew how to show us a good time-they were probably the coolest boys we’d ever met, and observing their habits at such proximity was like being on rare safari with a caged animal.

Note 2: Where is the line between fiction and nonfiction?

Lesson: Push past comfort zones and you’ll be comfortable with anything.

Scary stories and experimentation. Taken out of context, period.

Note 3: The only problem that we had was that we had to keep it a secret that our parents weren’t there.

Lesson: (One reiterated by sex yogi Dan Savage) There are things a mother has a right not to know.

Camp is a universe that breeds a better boy. A world in which parents have no province is key-without this experience, momma’s boys would not have found the sweet honey beyond yenta’s reach in the forms of independence, rebellion, novelty, and ofcourse, girls (or boys). A recipe for a much sexier gentleman than one who was wifed out and whipped from birth.

While the subsequent three notes hold equally valuable lessons, they’d be best summed up in my own letter home:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Today was a fun day at camp. We ate bugs and played with the boys in the mud. It was my favorite day so far. The Israeli boys always want to Rambo and terrorist roleplay, which isn’t my favorite, but I still play along. I am making good friends with the other girls, dressing as persecuted Indians and collectively weeping–I feel more Jewish already.

The counselors are really swell. Don’t worry. They’re teaching us really valuable lessons.

Please send money.

Love,

Bambi