The Call of the Wild

So I was watching Into the Wild last night, and all I could think of during the scenes where it was snowy out and the guy found a school bus to live in is HOW GREAT those conditions would be for napping. Seriously.

Maybe the movie also spoke to me because I also recently went hunting for the first time. It was by accident, really. I went to Food Emporium and asked for a cooked lobster, but the guy said they were old and gross and I didn't want them. He offered me a live one, but I said I was scared, so he said he'd steam one for me if I gave him 12 minutes.

I walked in, the lobster was alive; I walked out, it wasn't. Visceral, like gutting a moose with your bare hands.

I guess if you had to pinpoint the one difference between my story and that of Christopher McCandless, it's that I didn't get maggots in my kill and starve to death. Instead, I went to the ballet, then came home and ate my lobster with some sea salt and vinegar chips, Cherry Garcia, and Diet Dr. Pepper. That's some Jack London shit, son.