summertramp

Yesterday I went with K. and N. to the last Summertramp of the year. We got there early, and good thing. It was jam-packed when we left five hours later. Summertramp is an adults-only pop-up water park held every last Sunday of the summer months, in the parking lot of a bar in the Arts District. There are blow-up water slides, bouncy castles, and a pool filled with oversized floats. And alcohol. And pizza. And lots of trannies.





Last year I took my Nikon and got some my favorite photos that I've taken in LA. This year, however, I couldn't bring it - it's in for repair. After some heavy internal debate, I decided not to bring my Leica instead, and to just get what I could with my iPhone. This was not an easy decision. Summertramp is a mecca of unadulterated hedonism, lycra abuse, and inappropriate behavior. But it's either lug around a camera that you're constantly afraid will get wet/stolen, or just go to have fun. So I went to have fun.

Each of the port-a-potties had a special designation. These were the best:




Love this:



We passed around a bottle of cheap champagne, splashed with strangers in the pool, slid down the whale slide, checked out a lot of skin, and danced. And bonus! A DJ friend I'd never actually heard spin before did a set in the afternoon (so we got in free, yay).

The pool, before the masses descended upon it:



My favorite shot of the day (and people, that's water from a spray gun on my bathing suit, not sweat):



It was right about then that N. and I realized we had absolutely no idea where our shoes had gotten up and wandered off to (because that's what they did). We cabbed it back to my place, shoeless, where he borrowed a pair of my flip flops and the three of us went to The Counter for burgers and parmesan fries. That was a brilliant decision on my part, seeing as how I had a birthday dinner to go to later that night. And that second supper? Meatloaf. I spent the late evening and all of today in a ground-beef induced bloat-stupor. Huzzah.