It's nude, not naked

DeAnza Springs Resort sits in the middle of a desolate, dusty desert about an hour east of San Diego. Pavement turns to dirt as the road winds, ending abruptly at a protective gate guarding the entrance. It could be just another remote campground, but that possibility shatters as the gate opens, revealing a wooden sign depicting a naked couple and the words "Relax, You're Home Now."

This particular weekend, though, is anything but relaxing. DeAnza is playing host to an official American Association of Nude Recreation (AANR) convention, and the main event is an American Idol-esque singing competition.

The grounds manager, a sunburned man in a tank top and mirrored sunglasses, drives a golf cart while manning a walkie-talkie and sipping from a can of Budweiser. Leading the way through the rows of permanent housing, RVs and trailers, he says there's been an accident--an older gentleman has fallen--so he drops us at the clubhouse and heads toward the commotion. The paramedics, whose uniforms seem incongruous in this particular setting, help the naked man to his feet.

Inside the clubhouse, a giant cardboard box of old shoes sits at the entrance to the reception area. The shoes don't seem out of place--the DeAnza d