Home > Everything Else > The Small Things That Men Are Made Of

The Small Things That Men Are Made Of

Going camping this weekend, so I pulled out the Folding Camping Table, which was filthy with powdery dust from the last trip, and hadn’t been cleaned for… well, let’s be realistic and say never. And the act of cleaning this thing filled me with an immense satisfaction.

My love of this table is not commensurate with the actual value, in usefulness, of the thing itself. My love for this table cannot be conquered or tamed. If I found myself on a boat with my table (dollar value: approximately five) and my camera bag (dollar value, filled: two thousand), and the boat started to capsize, I would have to give it a good long think about which one to go for first. But that’s the problem! Nobody has that kind of time on a sinking boat! Dammit.

I love you table.

I bought Table at Target or someplace like Target (it might have started with “W”) about six or seven years ago, and I have dragged it from one end of the country to the other. I mean literally. Well, not the “drag” part, it sits inside a vehicle and rolls on wheels. And also I don’t mean one end of the country to the other, but mostly in largish circles in the western parts. Jump ahead!

On three dozen camping trips, from Chaco Canyon in New Mexico to Death Valley, from the alkali flats of the Black Rock Desert in Northern Nevada to the fragrant shores of Big Sur, from redwood forests to the rolling sand dunes of coastal Oregon: Mississippi, Texas, Arizona, this table has gone with me. And what do I need it for? I put stuff on it. Sometimes I put a jug of water on there, and refill my canteen. If you don’t think this is important, you have never refilled anything from anything.

But you put stuff on it. And it folds flat. You throw it on top of everything else in the car, and then you pull it out and do some kind of magic thing and it’s a table. A fucking table! It’s made out of aluminum and you can carry it around with your pinky. It only has one tiny dent. If I ever find myself homeless, I can use it for a cot. You can also eat your dinner off it. Cook your dinner and then eat your dinner, right on the same surface! And then you can sit on it, Fonzie.

I think I will probably name my first kid “Table.”

  1. August 10, 2010 at 08:09

    Frankenstein Jones, I like your style!!! 🙂 It is eloquent in its simplicity and form… so manly in its delivery. So appropo…

  2. August 10, 2010 at 14:25


  3. August 10, 2010 at 16:58

    This made me laugh. I appreciate your bluntness; it reminds me of people in New York when i was growing up.

  1. August 11, 2010 at 00:06

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