A Surfboard among Cornholers

I have lately been confronted with my own californian-ness, since I have moved to the midwest to continue with post-secondary education.
In other words, when I relate my country state of origin, the most common response is, "Oh. (awkward pause) Wow."
Or, possibly...

"Sweet!!" (with wide eyes and an incredulous look, intimating that they had heard that the species existed, but had never seen a live specimen.)

I think, however, that the source of these responses comes from things like this:

'Nuff said, eh?

You know... (part 2)

...you've been backpacking...

• When the hardness of a fast-food joint's chairs feels like an utter luxury.
• When you're surprised by the amazing taste of things that don't have DEET in them.
• When the term "clean hands" becomes relative.
• When even the thirty-second rule becomes restrictive to your eating habits.
• When popping popcorn over an open fire is the most entertaining thing you can think of to do.
• When your mosquito bite count exceeds your fingers' mathematical abilities.
• When your mosquito bite count is nothing to the number of minor scratches and abrasions inflicted by particularly vengeful and aggressive plants.
• When you don't care about the previous two points.
• When the mere sounds of the suburbs are oppressive to your ears.
• When "shower" is a word of fond, but distant memory.
• When the air around you looks brown.
• When you seem to be able to fly, because your 30 pound pack is not on your back.
• When nothing you see at home in the valley can compare to the majesty of the least of the vistas you just took in.
• When you're simply overwhelmed by the glory of God's creation.

Oh, and one last tip:
Sometimes, looking before you leap just isn't enough.
Sometimes, ground that looks perfectly solid at the start of your leap suddenly changes to knee-deep mud mid-air.
Sometimes, reversing course midair...

well...

actually...

that's NEVER possible.