'Cabin Pressure' looks back with humor

June 28, 2007|Chuck Leddy

Summer camp is one of the rites of childhood, transporting kids from the boredom of home to an idyllic landscape filled with canoes, mountain trails, archery ranges, campfires, and cabin bunk beds. For 33-year-old Josh Wolk, a few weeks away from getting married and officially becoming an adult, memories of his boyhood camp in the Maine woods call to him like a siren of his lost youth. What Wolk discovers, after his nostalgic return as a camp counselor, is that traveling back is sometimes the best way to move forward.

Let's get this observation out of the way first: Wolk, even in his 30s, is an incorrigible goofball. He's also a fine writer aware of the manifold comic possibilities presented by his return to summer camp. And while he often swims wistfully in the waters of suspended adolescence, he's also flat-out funny, much like a man-child from one of Nick Hornby's novels . When he presents himself to the 14-year-old boys in his cabin, pointing to the wall where he'd scribbled his name 20 years earlier, they're far from impressed. "They squinted up at my name," Wolk writes. "Not quite with awe. Something else, really. 'I wasn't even born yet,' said one. They all murmured agreement."

Wolk is the Albert Einstein of bestowing nicknames, giving one to everyone in his cabin ; they include the Mighty Clam, Kid Kidney, Membrane, Pinky the Magnificent, and Dr. Perfidious. Wolk refers to one overexcited, constantly chattering 14-year-old as Kid ADD. Shortly after he dubs one wisecracking camper "Big B," said camper taunts Wolk on his 34th birthday for being so unimaginably old. Wolk glares at Big B and threatens that "he who giveth the nickname can taketh away." An undeterred Big B responds, "And you smelleth like old dude."

As a camp counselor, Wolk is simply an overgrown kid. He taunts his charges after defeating them in a variety of board games, including a word game in which the professional writer (he works for Entertainment Weekly) has an insurmountable advantage. "Oooh, well played, Mr. Witty," Wolk teases after one victory. "I'm surprised you held back from your usual knockout punch, calling me a 'doodyhead.' " These exchanges aren't exactly Proustian. "All-male environments speak the language of trash talk," observes Wolk. "The important thing was not the victory but the accompanying lighthearted browbeating."

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