Icy Lakes and the Absurd

Back in Eighth Grade, I read a book by the title of Barry Trotter and the Unauthorized Parody. It was about a step below anything you could read in the Mad Magazine, but my 14-year-old self found it absolutely hysterical. I read it in March, and with Easter Break coming up at the end of the month, it became my mission to create an epic book report movie all about Barry Trotter. I had no friends, no homework, and certainly no obligations, but I had a tripod, and an idea; once break began, I started video taping everyday.
      Even though break was over March, it was still snowy and frost covered in my old town. The shot I remember most involved a pan of the frozen lake by my house. The camera becomes stationary, secured on the tripod, and I walk in front of the plane of vision. Turning to the camera, I say, "Barry Trotter is kind of like throwing a rock on an icy lake." I bend over to pick up a rock and throw it over the lake. It skids for quite a distance before coming to a stop. I turn back to the camera and say, "I don't really know how, though."
     That was absurd.
     I rode my bicycle on a rural road far away from my home several times when I was in high school. The road twisted around lakes, ridges, woods, farmlands, golf courses and small towns. To bicycle that marathon-length distance was to take me into the middle of the next county north. As I returned back home for Thanksgiving, I was filled with an urge to return to the off-the-beaten-path path. I drive along with a car this time, and stop by the docks of a secluded little lake. It was a cold November day, and the rim of the lake, but not the center, were frozen with about an inch of ice. I picked up a small rock and threw it underhand, seeing if I could skid it all the way to the watery center. The sound of the rock skidding sounded like an alien laser gun, increasing its pitch as it slid closer to the center. I continued to throw rock onto the lake to hear how they sounded.
     That was absurd.
     Currently I am reading the classic essay "The Myth of Sisyphus" by French-Algerian philosopher Albert Camus. The thesis of the piece seems to be that life is absurd, but it is a paradox we must accept. Therefore suicide is not an option. Camus, whose name is pronounced CAM-MOO as I have come to learn, kept on writing about absurdity in life. I wonder what a Francophone dweller like himself perceived as being absurd. What was the first "absurd" thing that popped into his head? He probably didn't think about icy lakes. Did he think about the evolutionary mechanisms that produced platypuses? Did he think about how erratic traffic in Paris was?    
     If somebody is going to tell me that life is absurd, I want to know what things are considered by the writer as absurd, because I see absurd things all the time. It's my life as it is.