Been goin' through a lot of popcorn the last week or so trying to keep up with rapidly unfolding developments. The buzzword for the week is 'footbullet' as Scientology keeps digging themselves in deeper and deeper & as I shamelessly mix metaphors. Every tactic they use to combat this offensive either blows up in their face or is fixin' to come back and bite 'em in the ass. Hard, too, looks like.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q40DzdVVw-s
Since the March 15 protests, a few folks have been targeted by Scientology with their Fair Game Policy, one of the things that the protestors are protesting. It reads as follows:
"Fair game. May be deprived of property or injured by any means by any Scientologist without any discipline of the Scientologist. May be tricked, sued or lied to or destroyed."
http://www.fairgamed.org/fairgame.htm
Perhaps the saddest story is that of Sean Carasov and his cat. His story & that of another Southern California member of Anonymous can be heard here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blMPBVLkR4M
R.I.P. Mudkips.
Nor are these the only cases of legal harassment that have occurred; there were two arrests at the Atlanta protests - where the police showed up in full riot gear & where it is rumored that Scientology has connections with the city government. Two speakers were arrested for protesting without a permit despite protest organizers being told repeatedly that permits were not required. Interestingly enough, video shows them being led into the Scientology compound. Without being read their rights. The police were also ticketing motorists passing by who honked in support of the protestors. Nice recap video of those events:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1dexAtZ54Sg
Another outrageous charge of criminal tresspass in Boston - along with a recent Scary Legal Letter Campaign, is profiled here:
http://radaronline.com/exclusives/2008/03/anonymous-scientology-legal-letters-gregg-latham-watkins.php
Really, though....if this is the best they got, it's closer to the end than I thought. Epic fail, as they say. The really lulzy part though is how, as word spreads of these people's stories, even more people are compelled to act against these injustices. Enturbulation.org has over 13,000 registered members now.
Most fun of all are their YouTube videos, or would be if they didn't exhibit so much ignorance and psychosis. A typical example:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NowhEuS-zsY
Lulzy Anonymous response:
"Knave of J, Anon does not fear water cannons. Because another of our many secrets is that we are really, really absorbent. In fact, you may think of Anon as a massive, porous, and courageous sponge of free speech. So soak us. Our picket signs may run, but we won't."
C'mon, ya gotta love these guys.
But it keeps you wondering...that video, for example: was it made by Scientology? Or by Anonymous to make Scilons look like jackasses? Considering that these are the same sort of tactics Scientology have traditionally used, they are ideal for Anonymous to employ against them in this particular arena, the tubes, where they have the clear advantage. Makes it hard to tell the players from the played...not unlike Iraq, I reckon. But with more lulz and cake and lots less Traumatic Brain Injury.
Other recent wins for Anonymous include leaks of the entire set of Scientology OT documents - the stuff they charge these poor suckers upwards of $300k for - and various financial and tax records. The organization is reportedly hemorrhaging funds and hitting up their minions for an additional $100k per month per "org" to combat this horrific "terrorist threat". Their desperation seems borne out by my friend Richard's report of finding Scientology fliers papering his neighborhood. You know you're in trouble when you have to start going door-to-door. Unless you're the Girl Scouts & you have cookies. Especially those tasty thin mint ones.
But my favorite development came not only out of Texas, but out of the Republican Party of Texas: they adopted a resolution calling for the revocation of Scientology's status as a legitimate religion in the State of Texas.
http://www.anonhouston.com/wiki/Image:Resolutionsmall.jpg
...Just makes me all warm and fluffy inside. Now if I could only get one of those letters...
This is about much more than Scientology: it's about free speech, it's about tax fraud - YOUR money! - it's about human rights violations, it's about child abuse, it's about the perversion of our legal system, it's about corporate fascism and corruption and the destruction of familes, it's about the legally sanctioned exploitation of the emotionally vulnerable.
There's lots more documentation for all this stuff out there, easily available. Google is your friend. Educate yourself. Knowledge is free.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Anonymous & the OED
From the Oxford English Dictionary:
legion
• noun 1 a division of 3,000-6,000 men in the ancient Roman army. 2 (a legion/legions of) a vast number of people or things.
• adjective great in number: her fans are legion.
— ORIGIN Latin, from legere ‘choose, levy (an army)’.
OK, this has been bugging me & I'd just like to point this out because not only have I encountered this gross linguistic misinterpretation in the Tubes, but have also fielded similar comments IRL regarding Anonymous' use of the phrase "We are legion". A typical comment (from YouTube):
"Your quote in caps is interesting...and disturbing. Two lines are from the Bible. "The Truth shall set you free" speaks of the Gospel of Christ saving sinners. That's good so far. Then "We are Legion" speaks of the account of when Christ was exorcising demons out of a possessed man. When Christ asked who the demon was inside the man, the demon replied, "I (We) are Legion" because he was possessed by 1,000s of demons. We are legion? Not me."
I can only assume that this is due to most people's early christian indoctrination, something I mercifully escaped. Webster's Unabridged was my bible. But there seems to be a common association with the word 'legion' - especially in the context of the phrase 'we are legion' - with demons or satan. Since I'm too lazy on this Easter Sunday to drag out the bible, I'll trust Wikipedia to this one:
The most commonly quoted version is found in Mark 5:9:
And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, Our name is Legion: for we are many. (KJV) [it is argued that the phrasing is, "we are legion, for we are many"]
Another version of the quotation is in Luke 8:30:
And Jesus asked him, saying, What is thy name? And he said, Legion: because many devils were entered into him. (KJV)
In some versions of the Bible, the quotation is different: We are mob, for there are so many of us
Or maybe most folks simply associate the phrase with The Exorcist, an admittedly really scary movie, especially if you saw it when you were a little kid. The book was scarier, though.
But let's just break this down: isn't all the possessed dude really saying here is "Call me whatever you want. Hey, just call me BunchOfUs because, well, there's a bunch of us in here." Y'know, if you subscribe to that sort of thing. Would that make the phrase "a bunch of us" somehow inherently demonic?
Just wondering. Isn't it all about the vernacular?
We Like Big Words,
P.
legion
• noun 1 a division of 3,000-6,000 men in the ancient Roman army. 2 (a legion/legions of) a vast number of people or things.
• adjective great in number: her fans are legion.
— ORIGIN Latin, from legere ‘choose, levy (an army)’.
OK, this has been bugging me & I'd just like to point this out because not only have I encountered this gross linguistic misinterpretation in the Tubes, but have also fielded similar comments IRL regarding Anonymous' use of the phrase "We are legion". A typical comment (from YouTube):
"Your quote in caps is interesting...and disturbing. Two lines are from the Bible. "The Truth shall set you free" speaks of the Gospel of Christ saving sinners. That's good so far. Then "We are Legion" speaks of the account of when Christ was exorcising demons out of a possessed man. When Christ asked who the demon was inside the man, the demon replied, "I (We) are Legion" because he was possessed by 1,000s of demons. We are legion? Not me."
I can only assume that this is due to most people's early christian indoctrination, something I mercifully escaped. Webster's Unabridged was my bible. But there seems to be a common association with the word 'legion' - especially in the context of the phrase 'we are legion' - with demons or satan. Since I'm too lazy on this Easter Sunday to drag out the bible, I'll trust Wikipedia to this one:
The most commonly quoted version is found in Mark 5:9:
And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, Our name is Legion: for we are many. (KJV) [it is argued that the phrasing is, "we are legion, for we are many"]
Another version of the quotation is in Luke 8:30:
And Jesus asked him, saying, What is thy name? And he said, Legion: because many devils were entered into him. (KJV)
In some versions of the Bible, the quotation is different: We are mob, for there are so many of us
Or maybe most folks simply associate the phrase with The Exorcist, an admittedly really scary movie, especially if you saw it when you were a little kid. The book was scarier, though.
But let's just break this down: isn't all the possessed dude really saying here is "Call me whatever you want. Hey, just call me BunchOfUs because, well, there's a bunch of us in here." Y'know, if you subscribe to that sort of thing. Would that make the phrase "a bunch of us" somehow inherently demonic?
Just wondering. Isn't it all about the vernacular?
We Like Big Words,
P.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Roadtrip Pics & Video now on Photobucket!
Experience the awesome quiet of the Painted Desert & Petrified Forest, admire a really big hole in the ground somewhere in Arizona, drive up Highway 1 up the California coast and onto the Golden Gate in the rain, party with Hippies On Fire before the infamous Phil Lesh show in San Francisco, drive through Napa Valley at sunset, arrive in Yosemite during a snowstorm, join Megan for a jacuzzi bubble bath in El Portal, fall in love with Death Valley & more!
Lots of pics & video...at some point, I'll get all Megan's stuff from her laptop & there'll be more. Her pictures tend to be much better than mine, well, she can see a helluva lot better, and I know she's got some fun video too. I'm certain that doing that will provide me with countless useful hours of frustration. What the hell, it keeps me off the streets at night.
http://s252.photobucket.com/albums/hh22/pamsterpics/SWroadtrip/
Lots of pics & video...at some point, I'll get all Megan's stuff from her laptop & there'll be more. Her pictures tend to be much better than mine, well, she can see a helluva lot better, and I know she's got some fun video too. I'm certain that doing that will provide me with countless useful hours of frustration. What the hell, it keeps me off the streets at night.
http://s252.photobucket.com/albums/hh22/pamsterpics/SWroadtrip/
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
The Revolutionary Potential of Anonymous
These folks caught my attention first several months ago when I became interested in a rather obscure news item about a teen suicide connected to some sort of MySpace drama. After reading the particulars of the story, and how a grown woman had deliberately baited an unstable young girl by pretending to be a boy who liked her in order to set her up for social ridicule, it really touched a nerve in me – as it evidently did a fair amount of folks – and I went looking for what people were saying about this on various forums and such. Just in time to watch all hell break loose. The original news stories did not name the woman, but provided enough details for a few Anonymous individuals to determine it. Her name, her husband’s name, her kid’s name, their address, home & cell phone numbers, their places of employment, client list of their business, property tax records, I can’t remember what all. And then fed it to an angry internet mob. The results were predictable. And very satisfying: Live by the Sword, Die by the Sword. It was a beautiful thing, anarchy in action. It’s not often you get to see karma work itself out so quickly and publicly.
I was struck then by the potential for this; Anonymous kept stirring the pot, keeping folks riled up and people started putting pressure to have the case re-opened. Then on the major media to cover it and now people all over the world know Lori Drew’s name and what she did and what she looks like. And even if she never did get charged with anything, she’s definitely paying her debt to society.
So, curious about these Anonymous folks, I started looking into them. And stumbled onto a whole subculture with its own language, jokes, philosophies and code. Some of it, well, a lot of it, was just juvenile. But some of it was funny as hell and I liked their style. It fascinated me sociologically and was a lot of fun to watch. Lotsa lulz. If you have no other real life, see
http://encyclopediadramatica.com/Main_Page for details.
I missed the beginning of World War Internet between Anonymous and Scientology because I was on the roadtrip, but when I got back and caught up with all that had gone on, I was really impressed at the success of the Feb. 10 protests. Anyone interested about the genesis of this movement should check out 'The Road to February 10th' :
http://www.dailymotion.com/SA-Anonymous/video/7341208
The really remarkable thing to me is how this small group of internet Merry Pranksters evolved – and very quickly – into a hive-mind, a collective consciousness. The Zeitgeist of the Internets.
Here are two excellent videos about the nature of Anonymous and how it is evolving:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuHF_br-DBs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0WCLKzDFpI
But think about this for a minute: the early old-school Anonymous are hard-core gamers. The Fox News piece about them last summer,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNO6G4ApJQY
(causing many lulz) was about as accurate as most of its careful and thoughtful reporting, but, from my research into their ouevre, I think they did get it fairly spot-on when they said that Anonymous plays the internet - and its denizens - like a computer game. Hey, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. And never forget that Anonymous’ primary motivation is always for the lulz.
There is a fair amount of evidence that Scientology was in danger of imploding even before Anonymous declared war. There have been many leaked documents in the last year and several high-profile defections, including David Miscavige’s niece and Mike Rinder, former chief spokesman for the church.
From Radar Magazine:
"It's looking like the perfect storm," says Dave Touretzky, a research professor of computer science at Carnegie Mellon University and a longtime critic of the Church. "I just can't believe what's happened over the last six months. It's all falling apart for Scientology now. We're looking at the end times for them."
http://radarmagazine.com/from-the-magazine/2008/03/scientology_anonymous_protests_tom_cruise_01.php
So, just suppose Anonymous decided that, for the lulz, they’d up the ante and move their game from cyberspace into meatspace, as they say. What better target than Scientology, a corrupt and just plain silly pseudo-religion that’s already a public joke, albeit currently wealthy and somewhat politically powerful? If so, this is brilliant strategy; if Anonymous can take even partial credit for the crash of the church of Scientology, it’s quite an epic win for them, as they say. I’d say it would boost their credibility – not to mention their notoriety – considerably.
But Anonymous is no longer just a small group of cyber-anarchists; a lot of people are waking up to the power of the internet to affect political and social change. The Christian Science Monitor, in an article about the recent protests, reports that:
“These tactics of anonymous activism have given a new voice to dissidents living under authoritarian regimes in Burma (Myanmar) and China. But similar methods are now challenging the legal systems of democratic governments as well, upsetting the ability of judges to balance freedom of speech against competing claims of privacy and public safety, argue some experts.”
http://www.csmonitor.com/2008/0317/p03s02-ussc.html
But it’s Anonymous’ use of satire and humor that’s making it work here; in another article I saw them referred to as “the Yippies of the internet” and that is exactly how I see it. Abbie Hoffman knew this: make the revolution a party and folks will show up. In this, Anonymous has their priorities in order: first, do it for the lulz. And there must always be delicious cake.
I was struck then by the potential for this; Anonymous kept stirring the pot, keeping folks riled up and people started putting pressure to have the case re-opened. Then on the major media to cover it and now people all over the world know Lori Drew’s name and what she did and what she looks like. And even if she never did get charged with anything, she’s definitely paying her debt to society.
So, curious about these Anonymous folks, I started looking into them. And stumbled onto a whole subculture with its own language, jokes, philosophies and code. Some of it, well, a lot of it, was just juvenile. But some of it was funny as hell and I liked their style. It fascinated me sociologically and was a lot of fun to watch. Lotsa lulz. If you have no other real life, see
http://encyclopediadramatica.com/Main_Page for details.
I missed the beginning of World War Internet between Anonymous and Scientology because I was on the roadtrip, but when I got back and caught up with all that had gone on, I was really impressed at the success of the Feb. 10 protests. Anyone interested about the genesis of this movement should check out 'The Road to February 10th' :
http://www.dailymotion.com/SA-Anonymous/video/7341208
The really remarkable thing to me is how this small group of internet Merry Pranksters evolved – and very quickly – into a hive-mind, a collective consciousness. The Zeitgeist of the Internets.
Here are two excellent videos about the nature of Anonymous and how it is evolving:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuHF_br-DBs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0WCLKzDFpI
But think about this for a minute: the early old-school Anonymous are hard-core gamers. The Fox News piece about them last summer,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNO6G4ApJQY
(causing many lulz) was about as accurate as most of its careful and thoughtful reporting, but, from my research into their ouevre, I think they did get it fairly spot-on when they said that Anonymous plays the internet - and its denizens - like a computer game. Hey, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. And never forget that Anonymous’ primary motivation is always for the lulz.
There is a fair amount of evidence that Scientology was in danger of imploding even before Anonymous declared war. There have been many leaked documents in the last year and several high-profile defections, including David Miscavige’s niece and Mike Rinder, former chief spokesman for the church.
From Radar Magazine:
"It's looking like the perfect storm," says Dave Touretzky, a research professor of computer science at Carnegie Mellon University and a longtime critic of the Church. "I just can't believe what's happened over the last six months. It's all falling apart for Scientology now. We're looking at the end times for them."
http://radarmagazine.com/from-the-magazine/2008/03/scientology_anonymous_protests_tom_cruise_01.php
So, just suppose Anonymous decided that, for the lulz, they’d up the ante and move their game from cyberspace into meatspace, as they say. What better target than Scientology, a corrupt and just plain silly pseudo-religion that’s already a public joke, albeit currently wealthy and somewhat politically powerful? If so, this is brilliant strategy; if Anonymous can take even partial credit for the crash of the church of Scientology, it’s quite an epic win for them, as they say. I’d say it would boost their credibility – not to mention their notoriety – considerably.
But Anonymous is no longer just a small group of cyber-anarchists; a lot of people are waking up to the power of the internet to affect political and social change. The Christian Science Monitor, in an article about the recent protests, reports that:
“These tactics of anonymous activism have given a new voice to dissidents living under authoritarian regimes in Burma (Myanmar) and China. But similar methods are now challenging the legal systems of democratic governments as well, upsetting the ability of judges to balance freedom of speech against competing claims of privacy and public safety, argue some experts.”
http://www.csmonitor.com/2008/0317/p03s02-ussc.html
But it’s Anonymous’ use of satire and humor that’s making it work here; in another article I saw them referred to as “the Yippies of the internet” and that is exactly how I see it. Abbie Hoffman knew this: make the revolution a party and folks will show up. In this, Anonymous has their priorities in order: first, do it for the lulz. And there must always be delicious cake.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The Ides of March: United as One, Divided by Zero
I really do just adore these Anonymous folks; who needs 'Survivor' when you can watch anarchy with a sense of humor unfolding right in front of you? Somewhere, Abbie Hoffman is smiling.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF2dTMHG-4U
Beautiful day for the Anonymous protests against the fraud and abuses and suppression of free speech by the Church of Scientology in Austin down by UT. A little warm for March - hey, Anonymous....can you maybe work on this whole Global Warming thing after you get done grinding Scientology into dust? Really; I think Al Gore would welcome you with open arms. You're natural allies, since he did, of course, invent the Internet.
I brought delicious chocolate cake, to the delight of many Anonymous protestors, along with party hats. I opted not to wear a mask, since I consider myself an Anonymous supporter and observer, rather than among the actual ranks. I also received compliments on my cool, albeit controversial, Anonymous t-shirt. I fully appreciated the dichotomy of the t-shirt when I bought it, with full knowledge that the very existence of such shirts is anathema to the core belief systems of Anonymous. I felt strongly, however, about showing my support and that as a supporter I could raise awareness by wearing it. Besides, it's really fucking cool.
Met my friend Erika and her friend Thax down there & hung out. Almost as good as sitting on the seawall. Nice vibe; a lot of laughing and dancing and singing. And, of course, cake. Pretty good turnout, I thought, peak count about 80 I heard, and lots of honking support from traffic. Hopefully, the numbers will continue to increase; the next protests are scheduled for 4/12. Expect us! One lone counter-protestor...I felt a little sorry for him. He didn't seem to be having nearly as much fun as everyone else. I watched a little video of some of the other protests; NYC looked like so much fun I'm tempted to fly there for the next round. See that here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kk_26KVWabw
And don't miss the speech:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aX0VI7B9rIw&feature=related
Got a few nice pics & a coupla videos, including music by the timeless Rick Astley. They can be viewed here: http://s252.photobucket.com/albums/hh22/pamsterpics/idesofmarch/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF2dTMHG-4U
Beautiful day for the Anonymous protests against the fraud and abuses and suppression of free speech by the Church of Scientology in Austin down by UT. A little warm for March - hey, Anonymous....can you maybe work on this whole Global Warming thing after you get done grinding Scientology into dust? Really; I think Al Gore would welcome you with open arms. You're natural allies, since he did, of course, invent the Internet.
I brought delicious chocolate cake, to the delight of many Anonymous protestors, along with party hats. I opted not to wear a mask, since I consider myself an Anonymous supporter and observer, rather than among the actual ranks. I also received compliments on my cool, albeit controversial, Anonymous t-shirt. I fully appreciated the dichotomy of the t-shirt when I bought it, with full knowledge that the very existence of such shirts is anathema to the core belief systems of Anonymous. I felt strongly, however, about showing my support and that as a supporter I could raise awareness by wearing it. Besides, it's really fucking cool.
Met my friend Erika and her friend Thax down there & hung out. Almost as good as sitting on the seawall. Nice vibe; a lot of laughing and dancing and singing. And, of course, cake. Pretty good turnout, I thought, peak count about 80 I heard, and lots of honking support from traffic. Hopefully, the numbers will continue to increase; the next protests are scheduled for 4/12. Expect us! One lone counter-protestor...I felt a little sorry for him. He didn't seem to be having nearly as much fun as everyone else. I watched a little video of some of the other protests; NYC looked like so much fun I'm tempted to fly there for the next round. See that here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kk_26KVWabw
And don't miss the speech:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aX0VI7B9rIw&feature=related
Got a few nice pics & a coupla videos, including music by the timeless Rick Astley. They can be viewed here: http://s252.photobucket.com/albums/hh22/pamsterpics/idesofmarch/
Friday, March 14, 2008
Hawaii pics & video link
http://s252.photobucket.com/albums/hh22/pamsterpics/Hawaii/
Maybe this'll even work. You'd think this stuff would be pretty straightforward, but you'd be wrong. Or maybe I just couldn't figure out the easy way to do it all. That would, in fact, be quite in keeping with my usual approach.
Maybe this'll even work. You'd think this stuff would be pretty straightforward, but you'd be wrong. Or maybe I just couldn't figure out the easy way to do it all. That would, in fact, be quite in keeping with my usual approach.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Picture & Video Links Coming Soon!
Watch the crashing surf at The End Of The World, catch a spectacular sunset at Huggo's On The Rocks, drive the road to Kona, hang out a bit on the seawall! AND YOU ARE THERE!
Finally managed to get all roadtrip & Hawaii pics and video from the laptop to the desktop. Now working on trying to get them into Photobucket so I can post a link to them for y'alls viewing enjoyment. Lulz for all!
Tomorrow night is Willie Nelson. Actually, I'm not all that excited about seeing him; I'm really glad that Willie exists, but in truth, I can take or leave his music. I'm really going for the social aspect: at this particular show and at this particular venue, I'm likely to run into old friends, or maybe old enemies. Which could be either fun or horrific. In any case, it should be interesting.
Finally managed to get all roadtrip & Hawaii pics and video from the laptop to the desktop. Now working on trying to get them into Photobucket so I can post a link to them for y'alls viewing enjoyment. Lulz for all!
Tomorrow night is Willie Nelson. Actually, I'm not all that excited about seeing him; I'm really glad that Willie exists, but in truth, I can take or leave his music. I'm really going for the social aspect: at this particular show and at this particular venue, I'm likely to run into old friends, or maybe old enemies. Which could be either fun or horrific. In any case, it should be interesting.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Hawaii Afterthought #1
...Since I'm sure there'll be more.
My experiences with people in Kona were an interesting counterpoint to those in San Francisco. Many of the people I met and talked with and hung out on the seawall with in Kona were people in similar circumstances as the street people I wrote about in San Francisco. Except, of course, that they were in Hawai’i. In my time down there I witnessed no aggression, never felt threatened, was never treated in any way other than with the utmost respect. I was included in the sharing that I saw constantly going on around me, banana bread, hot dogs, flowers, even a strawberry shortcake one day. I love strawberry shortcake. Those folks are onto something real out there.
My experiences with people in Kona were an interesting counterpoint to those in San Francisco. Many of the people I met and talked with and hung out on the seawall with in Kona were people in similar circumstances as the street people I wrote about in San Francisco. Except, of course, that they were in Hawai’i. In my time down there I witnessed no aggression, never felt threatened, was never treated in any way other than with the utmost respect. I was included in the sharing that I saw constantly going on around me, banana bread, hot dogs, flowers, even a strawberry shortcake one day. I love strawberry shortcake. Those folks are onto something real out there.
Aloha, y'all!
As all who have been following my travel blog on roadtripamerica.com - fascist buzz-killing technocrats that they are - are aware, I have recently returned from Hawai'i. I have copied all blog entries from there to here, from the Hawai'i trip and the roadtrip through the Southwest and California preceeding it. From there, I'll see where the path takes me; in the immediate works are blog entries covering the Willie Nelson show at the Backyard that I'll be attending Friday night & the Anonymous Scientology protests scheduled for Saturday, where I will be bringing delicious cake & wearing a mask & singing Rick Astley with those crazy Anonymous folks. Expect us!
"You have the right to free speech...
...as long as you're not dumb enough to actually try it."
- Joe Strummer
This morning I discovered that my travel blog account on RTA had been altered to require a password to those whom wish to view it. Puzzled as to how such a thing could have occured, I went in and changed it back & not long after received this email:
Hi Pamela,
Your site has been flagged by our system for review due to its content & language. After reviewing your site, we feel that it would be best to password protect your site as it is in breach of our terms and conditions. Putting a password on your site will stop any public access and only those with your password will be able to view it. I have set a password on your site being :
temp1234
You can change this password at any time by logging into your Update Center and click on Journal Options. Change your password there and save. You can email your password out to friends who you would like to view the site. We appreciate your understanding.
If you have any further questions please feel free to email me.
Happy travels,
Aaron Melder
Customer and Affiliate Support
MyTripJournal.com
I find this appalling, given that my content is relatively mild compared to the veritable boatloads of crap we all must wade through regularly when we venture out into the Tubes of the Internets, which we all know by now are serious fucking business. But whatever. Their website sucks anyway.
Where my motherfuckin' first amendment rights be at? And not one word out of you, Theodore...we've been over this.
- Joe Strummer
This morning I discovered that my travel blog account on RTA had been altered to require a password to those whom wish to view it. Puzzled as to how such a thing could have occured, I went in and changed it back & not long after received this email:
Hi Pamela,
Your site has been flagged by our system for review due to its content & language. After reviewing your site, we feel that it would be best to password protect your site as it is in breach of our terms and conditions. Putting a password on your site will stop any public access and only those with your password will be able to view it. I have set a password on your site being :
temp1234
You can change this password at any time by logging into your Update Center and click on Journal Options. Change your password there and save. You can email your password out to friends who you would like to view the site. We appreciate your understanding.
If you have any further questions please feel free to email me.
Happy travels,
Aaron Melder
Customer and Affiliate Support
MyTripJournal.com
I find this appalling, given that my content is relatively mild compared to the veritable boatloads of crap we all must wade through regularly when we venture out into the Tubes of the Internets, which we all know by now are serious fucking business. But whatever. Their website sucks anyway.
Where my motherfuckin' first amendment rights be at? And not one word out of you, Theodore...we've been over this.
Hawai'i #8
Perhaps I can learn to grow taro…
It’s one thing to smuggle a relatively small cocker spaniel into the occasional National Park motel room….it’s another class of feat entirely to successfully smuggle a 95 pound Rottweiler in and out of a high-rise resort hotel room three days running. Perhaps Dennis was moving ‘Lita in and out through another dimension though, because we managed somehow to get away with it.
One day, Dennis kidnapped me and took me to the taro farm just back around to the eastern side of the island where he spends his time when he’s not on the seawall in Kona. We took that rental car there down a lava flow off the main road. What the hell, it was insured. Actually, it was much better than the road to The Racetrack in Death Valley.
Truly idyllic, it was. Miles and miles of unspoiled coastline, backed by pristine green hills. A fresh-water spring making a nice-sized pond right in front of the ocean. Thriving taro patches and vegetable patches, fruit trees, flowers, herbs. I sat with an old Hawaiian elder and watched him make a native medicine out of some sort of nuts or seeds.
After spending a wonderful day out there, Dennis stopped on the way back & came back to the car with a Melona bar for me…. I’d never heard of them before, like a popsicle made of melon ice cream. Sounds strange, but was delicious.
Aside from the taro farm, spent the last days just relaxing….down at the wonderful crystal-clear salt-water tidepool at the Royal Kona, down on the seawall, hanging out at Terry’s house with Dennis, or down on The Grassy Knoll At The End Of The World. Had a wonderful dinner from Don the Beachcomber with Dennis & Terry on the lanai the last night with the last perfect sunset.
On the very last day before we got on the plane, I walked out the lava spit down by the seawall to return the lava rocks I’d taken from the other side of the island. By then I’d learned a bit about how Pele feels about people that take her children home with them. Ideally, they should have been returned to where I’d taken them from, but that wasn’t really possible. So I went and gave my apologies; as I was doing that & saying my prayer of thanks for all I’d experienced the waves lapped gently at my feet. But as soon as I opened the first bottle of sparkly black sand to pour it out, a huge wave came to drench me from head to toe. OK, bitch…I get it. Take your damn rocks.
I went back to the seawall, dripping wet, to tell Dennis and Terry that Pele, or maybe it was her bitch sister, had spit on me. Dennis suggested I look upon it as a blessing & I got on the plane with the salt water dried on my hair and skin and clothes. Supposed to be more healing that way.
Now I’m home, back to what passes for real life. I remember telling Dennis one day while we were at The Grassy Knoll that it was like the world is a big illusion of a cage. And most people don’t think anything of it; it’s a real cage for them and they don’t even see it. Then there are a smaller number of people like me, who see the cage for the illusion that it is but don’t know what the fuck to do about it. Then there are an even smaller number of people who know that the cage is real for everyone else, but also that it simply doesn’t apply to them. I’ve met a very few people like that in my life, Dennis was just the latest. And maybe the most amazing. He just texted me to tell me he’s seen dolphins four days in a row now and I can see him in my mind’s eye, down there on the seawall in Kona. It’s an oddly comforting thought: the world may go to hell in a handbasket, but Dennis will always be right there on the seawall, weaving away with an aloha and bits of cryptic wisdom and that dazzling smile for every single person that walks or drives by.
It’s one thing to smuggle a relatively small cocker spaniel into the occasional National Park motel room….it’s another class of feat entirely to successfully smuggle a 95 pound Rottweiler in and out of a high-rise resort hotel room three days running. Perhaps Dennis was moving ‘Lita in and out through another dimension though, because we managed somehow to get away with it.
One day, Dennis kidnapped me and took me to the taro farm just back around to the eastern side of the island where he spends his time when he’s not on the seawall in Kona. We took that rental car there down a lava flow off the main road. What the hell, it was insured. Actually, it was much better than the road to The Racetrack in Death Valley.
Truly idyllic, it was. Miles and miles of unspoiled coastline, backed by pristine green hills. A fresh-water spring making a nice-sized pond right in front of the ocean. Thriving taro patches and vegetable patches, fruit trees, flowers, herbs. I sat with an old Hawaiian elder and watched him make a native medicine out of some sort of nuts or seeds.
After spending a wonderful day out there, Dennis stopped on the way back & came back to the car with a Melona bar for me…. I’d never heard of them before, like a popsicle made of melon ice cream. Sounds strange, but was delicious.
Aside from the taro farm, spent the last days just relaxing….down at the wonderful crystal-clear salt-water tidepool at the Royal Kona, down on the seawall, hanging out at Terry’s house with Dennis, or down on The Grassy Knoll At The End Of The World. Had a wonderful dinner from Don the Beachcomber with Dennis & Terry on the lanai the last night with the last perfect sunset.
On the very last day before we got on the plane, I walked out the lava spit down by the seawall to return the lava rocks I’d taken from the other side of the island. By then I’d learned a bit about how Pele feels about people that take her children home with them. Ideally, they should have been returned to where I’d taken them from, but that wasn’t really possible. So I went and gave my apologies; as I was doing that & saying my prayer of thanks for all I’d experienced the waves lapped gently at my feet. But as soon as I opened the first bottle of sparkly black sand to pour it out, a huge wave came to drench me from head to toe. OK, bitch…I get it. Take your damn rocks.
I went back to the seawall, dripping wet, to tell Dennis and Terry that Pele, or maybe it was her bitch sister, had spit on me. Dennis suggested I look upon it as a blessing & I got on the plane with the salt water dried on my hair and skin and clothes. Supposed to be more healing that way.
Now I’m home, back to what passes for real life. I remember telling Dennis one day while we were at The Grassy Knoll that it was like the world is a big illusion of a cage. And most people don’t think anything of it; it’s a real cage for them and they don’t even see it. Then there are a smaller number of people like me, who see the cage for the illusion that it is but don’t know what the fuck to do about it. Then there are an even smaller number of people who know that the cage is real for everyone else, but also that it simply doesn’t apply to them. I’ve met a very few people like that in my life, Dennis was just the latest. And maybe the most amazing. He just texted me to tell me he’s seen dolphins four days in a row now and I can see him in my mind’s eye, down there on the seawall in Kona. It’s an oddly comforting thought: the world may go to hell in a handbasket, but Dennis will always be right there on the seawall, weaving away with an aloha and bits of cryptic wisdom and that dazzling smile for every single person that walks or drives by.
Hawai'i #7
Under The Milky Way Tonight
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNhR-PrTAFE
Been struggling with writing the rest of this story. There are things I want to write about, there are other things I choose not to write about, and then there are the things that can’t be written about. One thing Dennis was teaching me about was words, their power and their limitations. And he was right (that’s the thing about Dennis; he’s almost always right. Irritating as hell.): I’m not as good with them as I liked to think; I say things all the time that don’t accurately reflect what I mean, I use words without really thinking about them, I misuse and abuse the language. You can argue all day long about whether that’s art or not, but it’s certainly true that it complicates communication. So I’m trying to be more careful. Or at least aware.
So I told Dennis I’d come sleep under the stars on the beach with him. Then I said “I know you’re gonna kill me in the middle of the night with that knife.”
“Why on earth do you think I’d use my knife?”
Megan was not wild about me going north of town to Boomshakalakalaka Harbor to sleep on the beach with Dennis. With the rental car. But I trusted him.
We’d planned to have dinner but ended up sitting on the lanai & talking til late so we went to the grocery store on the way to the beach. I’d had a beer earlier in the evening on the lanai, but Dennis talked me out of bringing the wine to the beach. I weakened at the grocery store, but missed the time to buy it. By minutes. Well, darn. Dennis was amused, though.
And up the coast to Honokohau Harbor and into Kaloko-Honokohau National Historic Park. From the National Park Service website:
The Spirit of Kaloko
Along the western coastline of the island of Hawai’I lies the hot, rugged lava of Kaloko-Honokohau. Some people find it difficult to understand why the ancient Hawaiians chose to settle upon these stark lava fields. The reason was, perhaps, a spiritual one, for there was a spirit in Kaloko-Honokohau. The Hawaiians who first came to the area felt its presence in every rock and tree, in the gentle waters of shallow bays and in the tradewinds that gently swept across the lava flow. Perhaps you too will experience this spirit on your visit to this National Historic Park.
This is where Dennis sleeps. It’s surprisingly comfortable. You have to get up early, though….technically you’re not supposed to sleep there. Sometimes there are turtles.
He taught me an interesting and useful trick with my vision that night. We were looking at the stars and I explained how I couldn’t focus directly on one: it would look bright, but if I tried to look directly at it, the image would cross and fade away. It would come back when I looked at something else. So he taught me to look not at it or away, but right next to it. Sounds simple, and it is, but I’d never thought of it before. Works, too. And not just with stars; if I remember to do it, I can see other things much better.
We got up as it was getting light, went to Lava Java and grabbed some delicious 100% Kona coffee and headed south of town to the Grassy Knoll At The End Of The World.
And just sat there, for hours and hours. ‘Lita played with other dogs, chased mongoose, napped. We drank coffee, then water, watched whales. No hurry to go anywhere. Just slow down. Stop. Be quiet. Breathe. Listen. I just listened. To Dennis telling stories, to the ocean, to the breeze in the palm fronds above.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNhR-PrTAFE
Been struggling with writing the rest of this story. There are things I want to write about, there are other things I choose not to write about, and then there are the things that can’t be written about. One thing Dennis was teaching me about was words, their power and their limitations. And he was right (that’s the thing about Dennis; he’s almost always right. Irritating as hell.): I’m not as good with them as I liked to think; I say things all the time that don’t accurately reflect what I mean, I use words without really thinking about them, I misuse and abuse the language. You can argue all day long about whether that’s art or not, but it’s certainly true that it complicates communication. So I’m trying to be more careful. Or at least aware.
So I told Dennis I’d come sleep under the stars on the beach with him. Then I said “I know you’re gonna kill me in the middle of the night with that knife.”
“Why on earth do you think I’d use my knife?”
Megan was not wild about me going north of town to Boomshakalakalaka Harbor to sleep on the beach with Dennis. With the rental car. But I trusted him.
We’d planned to have dinner but ended up sitting on the lanai & talking til late so we went to the grocery store on the way to the beach. I’d had a beer earlier in the evening on the lanai, but Dennis talked me out of bringing the wine to the beach. I weakened at the grocery store, but missed the time to buy it. By minutes. Well, darn. Dennis was amused, though.
And up the coast to Honokohau Harbor and into Kaloko-Honokohau National Historic Park. From the National Park Service website:
The Spirit of Kaloko
Along the western coastline of the island of Hawai’I lies the hot, rugged lava of Kaloko-Honokohau. Some people find it difficult to understand why the ancient Hawaiians chose to settle upon these stark lava fields. The reason was, perhaps, a spiritual one, for there was a spirit in Kaloko-Honokohau. The Hawaiians who first came to the area felt its presence in every rock and tree, in the gentle waters of shallow bays and in the tradewinds that gently swept across the lava flow. Perhaps you too will experience this spirit on your visit to this National Historic Park.
This is where Dennis sleeps. It’s surprisingly comfortable. You have to get up early, though….technically you’re not supposed to sleep there. Sometimes there are turtles.
He taught me an interesting and useful trick with my vision that night. We were looking at the stars and I explained how I couldn’t focus directly on one: it would look bright, but if I tried to look directly at it, the image would cross and fade away. It would come back when I looked at something else. So he taught me to look not at it or away, but right next to it. Sounds simple, and it is, but I’d never thought of it before. Works, too. And not just with stars; if I remember to do it, I can see other things much better.
We got up as it was getting light, went to Lava Java and grabbed some delicious 100% Kona coffee and headed south of town to the Grassy Knoll At The End Of The World.
And just sat there, for hours and hours. ‘Lita played with other dogs, chased mongoose, napped. We drank coffee, then water, watched whales. No hurry to go anywhere. Just slow down. Stop. Be quiet. Breathe. Listen. I just listened. To Dennis telling stories, to the ocean, to the breeze in the palm fronds above.
Hawai'i #6
AAA To The Rescue Once Again
After several days of sitting on the wall with Dennis, I get a phone call early in the morning – too early for me to answer. When I listened to the voicemail, it was from Dennis, saying that his car had broken down a few miles up the road & he needed to get to town with ‘Lita, his impossibly sweet 95 pound Rottweiler/Bulldog mix who evidently thinks she’s a lap-dog & if I got the message & could possibly help him out to call him back. He had pissed me off a little the day before, so I didn’t jump to respond. But when we got ready to leave the room later that morning, I figured I’d go check & see if he’d made it to town. He was there on the seawall, weaving away. We chatted a bit & as I was walking away, he asked if I had a AAA card. I allowed that I did indeed. He asked if I was covered to have other cars than my own towed. I didn’t know, but told him I’d call them and ask after Megan & I went & explored the Farmer’s Market & ate.
Megan thought this was dumb, the guy had been doing nothing but give me a hard time, she said. I dunno…why not do something nice if it doesn’t cost me anything? Later when I called AAA, I just told them that I was visiting my brother in Hawaii & his car broke down & sure enough, they were happy to come tow it. Went back down to the seawall & told Dennis that we were go on that & hung out while he tried to figure logistics, whether we should go do it that afternoon, or later or the next morning. And he relented and told me that he’d go get me some of what I’d been seeking. But he’d need to take the rental car for about 45 minutes.
And I didn’t even hesitate. I somehow just trusted him. Megan thought I was nuts when I got back to the room and told her. But he was back in less than 45 minutes, not even giving me the chance to worry and obsess. He still wasn’t sure about when he wanted to do the towing thing, so he went back up to the seawall to sell more bowls. Megan & I enjoyed another lovely sunset & went to dinner at Don the Beachcomber at our hotel – excellent food – and when Dennis called during dinner we made plans to do the towing bit early the next morning.
The next morning, I drove a few miles north of town to Boomshakalakalaka Harbor (Honokohau Harbor), his pied a terre in Kona where he sleeps on the beach. (He spends half his time in Kona, weaving and selling his stuff, and the other half working at a taro farm with a Hawaiian family on the other side of the island). He went and got us some delicious Kona coffee to drink while we waited for the tow truck & we talked some more; he’d been talking to me for days about coming to sleep out under the stars on the beach with him, both Megan & I, (she wanted nothing to do with him at first, though), that we should go with him to the taro farm, get away from the hotel & Kona & see some real stuff. That morning I started to seriously consider it; we’d gained each others’ trust now. We were friends.
Megan & I were booked on the sunset cruise for dinner. It was so beautiful out there on the water and during that time of the evening when the sun is down and everything’s all blue, I noticed the older lady sitting next to me in tears. And I knew: she was grieving a death. And I reached out & touched her arm & asked her softly “You lost somebody, didn’t you?” Her husband had died in May, the same month my mother died. We talked a bit & I told her about my family and then I said, “You know, this is gonna sound crazy, but you should go down to the seawall and talk to the guy who weaves hats and bowls…he said some stuff that helped me.” When I told him about that the next day, he just laughed and said that talking to me probably helped her more than he could have.
“Do you see how it works now?”
After several days of sitting on the wall with Dennis, I get a phone call early in the morning – too early for me to answer. When I listened to the voicemail, it was from Dennis, saying that his car had broken down a few miles up the road & he needed to get to town with ‘Lita, his impossibly sweet 95 pound Rottweiler/Bulldog mix who evidently thinks she’s a lap-dog & if I got the message & could possibly help him out to call him back. He had pissed me off a little the day before, so I didn’t jump to respond. But when we got ready to leave the room later that morning, I figured I’d go check & see if he’d made it to town. He was there on the seawall, weaving away. We chatted a bit & as I was walking away, he asked if I had a AAA card. I allowed that I did indeed. He asked if I was covered to have other cars than my own towed. I didn’t know, but told him I’d call them and ask after Megan & I went & explored the Farmer’s Market & ate.
Megan thought this was dumb, the guy had been doing nothing but give me a hard time, she said. I dunno…why not do something nice if it doesn’t cost me anything? Later when I called AAA, I just told them that I was visiting my brother in Hawaii & his car broke down & sure enough, they were happy to come tow it. Went back down to the seawall & told Dennis that we were go on that & hung out while he tried to figure logistics, whether we should go do it that afternoon, or later or the next morning. And he relented and told me that he’d go get me some of what I’d been seeking. But he’d need to take the rental car for about 45 minutes.
And I didn’t even hesitate. I somehow just trusted him. Megan thought I was nuts when I got back to the room and told her. But he was back in less than 45 minutes, not even giving me the chance to worry and obsess. He still wasn’t sure about when he wanted to do the towing thing, so he went back up to the seawall to sell more bowls. Megan & I enjoyed another lovely sunset & went to dinner at Don the Beachcomber at our hotel – excellent food – and when Dennis called during dinner we made plans to do the towing bit early the next morning.
The next morning, I drove a few miles north of town to Boomshakalakalaka Harbor (Honokohau Harbor), his pied a terre in Kona where he sleeps on the beach. (He spends half his time in Kona, weaving and selling his stuff, and the other half working at a taro farm with a Hawaiian family on the other side of the island). He went and got us some delicious Kona coffee to drink while we waited for the tow truck & we talked some more; he’d been talking to me for days about coming to sleep out under the stars on the beach with him, both Megan & I, (she wanted nothing to do with him at first, though), that we should go with him to the taro farm, get away from the hotel & Kona & see some real stuff. That morning I started to seriously consider it; we’d gained each others’ trust now. We were friends.
Megan & I were booked on the sunset cruise for dinner. It was so beautiful out there on the water and during that time of the evening when the sun is down and everything’s all blue, I noticed the older lady sitting next to me in tears. And I knew: she was grieving a death. And I reached out & touched her arm & asked her softly “You lost somebody, didn’t you?” Her husband had died in May, the same month my mother died. We talked a bit & I told her about my family and then I said, “You know, this is gonna sound crazy, but you should go down to the seawall and talk to the guy who weaves hats and bowls…he said some stuff that helped me.” When I told him about that the next day, he just laughed and said that talking to me probably helped her more than he could have.
“Do you see how it works now?”
Hawai'i #5
DISCONNECT
I saw Dennis sitting on the seawall as soon as we got into Kailua-Kona and were driving down Ali’i Drive for the first time. I clearly felt that jolt of recognition: I knew I needed to go talk to him.
I suppose I could go on here about why I felt I needed to talk to him and what I thought my motivations were and what they actually were, but that’s just mental masturbation, as Dennis – and Larry the Pepper Guy – would undoubtedly say. Still, there’s something I still need to work out there but here isn’t the place to do it. Suffice to say, the impulse was strong & I followed it. And kept following it even when he tried to get rid of me at first.
Dennis sits on the seawall in town and weaves hats and bowls and roses and pinwheels from palm fronds to sell to the tourists, an “Aloha!” and that dazzling smile to every single person who walks or drives past. People of all description come and sit with Dennis for awhile, all ages, gender, race, educational background, and socioeconomic class.
The first time I talked to him, we were talking about the turtles we’d seen and about the whales and dolphins. He talked about swimming with sharks and when I asked him if that didn’t make him nervous, he replied “You make me nervous.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you’re a woman.”
“Yeah, I feel the same way about your gender.”
He’d been looking down at the work he was doing & just glancing up occasionally, but then he looked up directly at me – into is what it felt like – and said, “See? Isn’t that interesting, how that just happened?”
I was a little silenced for a second, but y’all know me, not long. Trying to make light, I volleyed with “Great. Now tell me my future”.
Still deadly serious he just looked at me & answered “I don’t work that way.”
As we walked away, Megan said “Did you see those big blue eyes? They look right into you.”
My primary motivation at this point (at least consciously, again my real motivations are arguable) was that I was trying to find something that Hawai’i is known for; Dennis looked like the kinda guy who might be able to help me, but I needed to get to know him a bit. But even by then, I’d sensed that there was something more to him & when I saw him again later, I asked him if he’d like to join Megan & I for the sunset & Huggo’s On The Rocks just down the street for a drink at sunset. He said he didn’t go to bars anymore, but would like to share a sunset and some red wine with us at “The End of the World”. He gave us directions, several miles south of town. Megan was reluctant and wary, but I wanted to go so badly she relented. There was absolutely no reason to, but I trusted him.
The next day, after our catamaran trip, I went back to the seawall and sat awhile and talked to Dennis and watched him weave and interact with everyone. He seemed to know and be on great terms with everyone in town. People came by bringing gifts, food, coffee, bananas, palm fronds, baked goods, flowers….I really don’t think I’ve seen anything like this in my life. So I kept going there and sitting for awhile, day after day, even after he told me that he wasn’t going to help me (due to a few misunderstandings and some bad timing), that I talk too much, that I think too much, that I drink too much & smoke too much, that I need to shut up and listen to myself and other people, that my self-destructive behavior was not amusing, that I was in deep denial about most of the important aspects of my life, that I liked to play games with words but wasn’t as good at it as I liked to think, that my pain was in no way special or unique and that he was going to start cutting my fingers off with his very, very sharp knife that he cuts the palm fronds with when he caught me biting my nails. He was tough as hell on me, made me cry a couple of times, but it was impossible to deny the essential truth of the stuff he said. He pointed out every single negative statement that came out of my mouth and it was all annoying as hell, but I started to see what he was talking about. And I kept going back and sitting with him. And listening, finally.
He had a way of imparting information that demanded patience. And careful listening and attention. We’d be talking about death or god or the universe or Buddhism or Hinduism or physics or Hawaiian culture and history and he’d launch into a seemingly unrelated story about something that he’d done or had happened in his life. The story would be long, with a lot of tangents, and he’d periodically pause and you’d wonder if it was the end & then pick up again. He’d also occasionally say, “Now, where was I?” and at first I thought he’d just gotten lost, but I gradually came to realize that he was testing to see if I was listening. And, eventually, the story would indeed come back around to illustrate a point about whatever we were discussing in the first place. Sometimes it did get boring, but mostly it was interesting enough to be worth listening to and did indeed teach me a lot about listening. And patience. And I kept going and sitting with him.
One afternoon after sitting with him awhile, I was walking away with Megan & looked down to see a piece of paper – it was actually a sticker with a peel-away back – with a single word on it: DISCONNECT.
I saw Dennis sitting on the seawall as soon as we got into Kailua-Kona and were driving down Ali’i Drive for the first time. I clearly felt that jolt of recognition: I knew I needed to go talk to him.
I suppose I could go on here about why I felt I needed to talk to him and what I thought my motivations were and what they actually were, but that’s just mental masturbation, as Dennis – and Larry the Pepper Guy – would undoubtedly say. Still, there’s something I still need to work out there but here isn’t the place to do it. Suffice to say, the impulse was strong & I followed it. And kept following it even when he tried to get rid of me at first.
Dennis sits on the seawall in town and weaves hats and bowls and roses and pinwheels from palm fronds to sell to the tourists, an “Aloha!” and that dazzling smile to every single person who walks or drives past. People of all description come and sit with Dennis for awhile, all ages, gender, race, educational background, and socioeconomic class.
The first time I talked to him, we were talking about the turtles we’d seen and about the whales and dolphins. He talked about swimming with sharks and when I asked him if that didn’t make him nervous, he replied “You make me nervous.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you’re a woman.”
“Yeah, I feel the same way about your gender.”
He’d been looking down at the work he was doing & just glancing up occasionally, but then he looked up directly at me – into is what it felt like – and said, “See? Isn’t that interesting, how that just happened?”
I was a little silenced for a second, but y’all know me, not long. Trying to make light, I volleyed with “Great. Now tell me my future”.
Still deadly serious he just looked at me & answered “I don’t work that way.”
As we walked away, Megan said “Did you see those big blue eyes? They look right into you.”
My primary motivation at this point (at least consciously, again my real motivations are arguable) was that I was trying to find something that Hawai’i is known for; Dennis looked like the kinda guy who might be able to help me, but I needed to get to know him a bit. But even by then, I’d sensed that there was something more to him & when I saw him again later, I asked him if he’d like to join Megan & I for the sunset & Huggo’s On The Rocks just down the street for a drink at sunset. He said he didn’t go to bars anymore, but would like to share a sunset and some red wine with us at “The End of the World”. He gave us directions, several miles south of town. Megan was reluctant and wary, but I wanted to go so badly she relented. There was absolutely no reason to, but I trusted him.
The next day, after our catamaran trip, I went back to the seawall and sat awhile and talked to Dennis and watched him weave and interact with everyone. He seemed to know and be on great terms with everyone in town. People came by bringing gifts, food, coffee, bananas, palm fronds, baked goods, flowers….I really don’t think I’ve seen anything like this in my life. So I kept going there and sitting for awhile, day after day, even after he told me that he wasn’t going to help me (due to a few misunderstandings and some bad timing), that I talk too much, that I think too much, that I drink too much & smoke too much, that I need to shut up and listen to myself and other people, that my self-destructive behavior was not amusing, that I was in deep denial about most of the important aspects of my life, that I liked to play games with words but wasn’t as good at it as I liked to think, that my pain was in no way special or unique and that he was going to start cutting my fingers off with his very, very sharp knife that he cuts the palm fronds with when he caught me biting my nails. He was tough as hell on me, made me cry a couple of times, but it was impossible to deny the essential truth of the stuff he said. He pointed out every single negative statement that came out of my mouth and it was all annoying as hell, but I started to see what he was talking about. And I kept going back and sitting with him. And listening, finally.
He had a way of imparting information that demanded patience. And careful listening and attention. We’d be talking about death or god or the universe or Buddhism or Hinduism or physics or Hawaiian culture and history and he’d launch into a seemingly unrelated story about something that he’d done or had happened in his life. The story would be long, with a lot of tangents, and he’d periodically pause and you’d wonder if it was the end & then pick up again. He’d also occasionally say, “Now, where was I?” and at first I thought he’d just gotten lost, but I gradually came to realize that he was testing to see if I was listening. And, eventually, the story would indeed come back around to illustrate a point about whatever we were discussing in the first place. Sometimes it did get boring, but mostly it was interesting enough to be worth listening to and did indeed teach me a lot about listening. And patience. And I kept going and sitting with him.
One afternoon after sitting with him awhile, I was walking away with Megan & looked down to see a piece of paper – it was actually a sticker with a peel-away back – with a single word on it: DISCONNECT.
Hawai'i #4
In Love With Lava
We’ve blown off Maui…..I needed to stay right here. I fell in love with Kona the first night and the days just drifted on by. Avoided activities the last coupla days to give Megan’s burn a chance to heal. I’ve been spending a lot of time just hanging out down on the seawall with Dennis & Terry & Scotty and the other beachbums who hang out there. That doesn’t interest Megan, she’s been doing other things, but I could sit down there for a year listening to Dennis, chatting with everybody & watching the world going by without getting bored. Megan dislikes Dennis – she hates all the guys I like. But that’s OK; I’m not wild about the guys that she likes either.
Hell, I’m not even sure I like Dennis all that much, but I am fascinated by him. He’s clearly insane in some yet-to-be-defined way, arrogant as hell, and at least half full of shit. Y’know, I like ‘em like that. But he’s also not a pig, smart as hell – the guy runs circles around me intellectually – and knows a lot about a lot of things & done some amazing stuff. Even if some – or all – of it is bullshit, he sure tells a good story. And, if nothing else, has proved himself trustworthy – a rarity in itself. My attraction to him is less sexual than spiritual (I could hear Dennis laughing down on the seawall as I wrote that….ok, initially it was sexual, but when I started listening to him I realized there was a lot more to it than that. Accurately enough put, Dennis? Good. Now get the hell out of my head and go back to weaving. Send Terry & ‘Lita my love.) Anyway, I had the strongest feeling that there were important things I could learn from him. In some ways, he reminded me of Shirley, the mysterious woman I call my Fairy Godmother. And in fact, many of the things he’s said are the same kinds of things she told me. Megan thinks that’s all a load of crap, but she & I are on different journeys.
I have a lot more to say about Dennis and will be dedicating an entire blog entry to our adventures within the next few days. Most of the above was written several days ago while still in Hawaii & could not post due to connection issues. (Same with pics…will be uploading those today & tomorrow). But I’m home now & digesting some amazing experiences & reviewing what I learned. And trying to get a feel for what will translate well to words & what’s better left in the realm beyond them.
We’ve blown off Maui…..I needed to stay right here. I fell in love with Kona the first night and the days just drifted on by. Avoided activities the last coupla days to give Megan’s burn a chance to heal. I’ve been spending a lot of time just hanging out down on the seawall with Dennis & Terry & Scotty and the other beachbums who hang out there. That doesn’t interest Megan, she’s been doing other things, but I could sit down there for a year listening to Dennis, chatting with everybody & watching the world going by without getting bored. Megan dislikes Dennis – she hates all the guys I like. But that’s OK; I’m not wild about the guys that she likes either.
Hell, I’m not even sure I like Dennis all that much, but I am fascinated by him. He’s clearly insane in some yet-to-be-defined way, arrogant as hell, and at least half full of shit. Y’know, I like ‘em like that. But he’s also not a pig, smart as hell – the guy runs circles around me intellectually – and knows a lot about a lot of things & done some amazing stuff. Even if some – or all – of it is bullshit, he sure tells a good story. And, if nothing else, has proved himself trustworthy – a rarity in itself. My attraction to him is less sexual than spiritual (I could hear Dennis laughing down on the seawall as I wrote that….ok, initially it was sexual, but when I started listening to him I realized there was a lot more to it than that. Accurately enough put, Dennis? Good. Now get the hell out of my head and go back to weaving. Send Terry & ‘Lita my love.) Anyway, I had the strongest feeling that there were important things I could learn from him. In some ways, he reminded me of Shirley, the mysterious woman I call my Fairy Godmother. And in fact, many of the things he’s said are the same kinds of things she told me. Megan thinks that’s all a load of crap, but she & I are on different journeys.
I have a lot more to say about Dennis and will be dedicating an entire blog entry to our adventures within the next few days. Most of the above was written several days ago while still in Hawaii & could not post due to connection issues. (Same with pics…will be uploading those today & tomorrow). But I’m home now & digesting some amazing experiences & reviewing what I learned. And trying to get a feel for what will translate well to words & what’s better left in the realm beyond them.
Hawai'i #3
Feb 29, 2008 If They Can Put One Man On The Moon….
. ..why not all of them?
Cynthia Heimel once wrote that there are two stages in a woman's life: prey and invisible. Being a middle-aged woman living in a college town, I've become quite comfortable being invisible. But somehow, when I go travelling I become prey again. Just like old times. Frankly, I don't much care for it.
We got up early yesterday morning for our snorkling trip and before we even got on the boat, due to our openness and friendliness, managed to get some dumb-as-a-jar-of-mayonnaise contractor from Seattle attached to us. Really, I have dresses with higher IQs. But, realizing that not all of god's creatures are blessed with our innate intelligence and since I have long known that it is part of god's plan for me to spend a little time with each of the most stupid people on earth, we were friendly and pleasant to him. Until he too proved himself to be a total tool. Once we were underway, he told me that he wanted "a nice picture" of me. Uh oh...when I asked him what he meant, he said, "Oh, you know.." and made a gesture of lifting his shirt. I fixed him with my death-ray glare, set mercifully on STUN, that I inherited from Nadine which is apparently effective even with sunglasses on. "What's the matter?", he responded. "You should be flattered." Interestingly enough, these were the exact words used by my friend Richard after I was grabbed in the crotch at the Phil Lesh concert in SF. Perhaps it's a standard phrase taught in Fucking Sexist Pig Asshole 101. Though I have yet to comprehend why being viewed as a likely candidate for exploitation should be flattering. Ding-Ding-Ding...thanks for playing. We have some lovely parting gifts for you, fuck you very much.
But the rest of the trip was wonderful; we sailed to Boomshakalakalaka Bay (Kealakekua Bay) where the Captain Cook Monument is located, and anchored to snorkel & swim in crystal waters. I got in the water for a bit, but I'm used to the Caribbean, where it's warm & fluffy and the water here was too chilly for me. I love the ocean, love to see and smell and hear it, but I don't necessarily have to get it on me to enjoy it. So I mostly hung out on the soothingly rocking boat, sunbathed, drank beer, sneaked cigarettes & chatted with a sweet & funny young man named Adam who reminded me of my old friend Mike Hammer in looks and wit and mannerisms. The scenery was spectacular, including the entire boat crew; we'd been tipped off by the girl at the front desk who recommended that particular excursion for that very reason.
After the boat adventure, while Megan nursed her rather serious sunburn, I went out looking for trouble in the guise of Dennis, the deliciously dirty beachbum we'd made the aquaintance of the day before. Hung out with him for a bit on the seawall in town; seems that the night before we'd missed finding him because of some confusion about where exactly we were supposed to meet. Megan & I took a right on the path where we were supposed to veer left & climbed the wrong hill.
And let's just talk about Dennis for a bit; interesting individual, very, very intense, but very unnerving as well. From our first conversation, he instilled what psychologists call aversion/compulsion in my head. Other places as well, I reckon. At least half of what he says is full of shit - probably more - but some of it showed rare insight. Enormous blue eyes that looked directly into the deepest fibers of my being, it sometimes seemed. Very intuitive, maybe a bit psychic, but maybe just manipulative. Still, he didn't seem to want anything from me & that was a draw. He wasn't trying to fuck me, or get me to show my tits, or suck his dick, buy him a drink or wash his socks. Actually, he probably doesn't even own any socks. Or underwear. But he sure as shit likes to fuck with people and was very good at yanking my chain. Why that appealed to me is god's own private mystery.
Megan & I had already booked the luau for the evening & I asked him if he'd like to join us, but he declined & gave me his cellphone number & told me to call him after the luau & we'd all have some red wine together.
Aversion/compulsion....at first, I was impatient for the luau to end. But then I started having second thoughts. It wasn't that I didn't trust him - though any sane and prudent woman wouldn't have - it was more that I didn't trust myself around him. And by then the sun (I had gotten a little burned as well, though not as bad as Megan), the long day, the drinks had all gotten to me and I got very, veerry sleeepy. So I opted not to call, after all. And slept the sleep of the dead, a rare and blessed event for me.
The Dennis Saga continues tomorrow & I'm gonna try to upload some Hawaii pics. Maybe it'll even work; been having some connection issues. This wireless shit ain't all it's cracked up to be.
. ..why not all of them?
Cynthia Heimel once wrote that there are two stages in a woman's life: prey and invisible. Being a middle-aged woman living in a college town, I've become quite comfortable being invisible. But somehow, when I go travelling I become prey again. Just like old times. Frankly, I don't much care for it.
We got up early yesterday morning for our snorkling trip and before we even got on the boat, due to our openness and friendliness, managed to get some dumb-as-a-jar-of-mayonnaise contractor from Seattle attached to us. Really, I have dresses with higher IQs. But, realizing that not all of god's creatures are blessed with our innate intelligence and since I have long known that it is part of god's plan for me to spend a little time with each of the most stupid people on earth, we were friendly and pleasant to him. Until he too proved himself to be a total tool. Once we were underway, he told me that he wanted "a nice picture" of me. Uh oh...when I asked him what he meant, he said, "Oh, you know.." and made a gesture of lifting his shirt. I fixed him with my death-ray glare, set mercifully on STUN, that I inherited from Nadine which is apparently effective even with sunglasses on. "What's the matter?", he responded. "You should be flattered." Interestingly enough, these were the exact words used by my friend Richard after I was grabbed in the crotch at the Phil Lesh concert in SF. Perhaps it's a standard phrase taught in Fucking Sexist Pig Asshole 101. Though I have yet to comprehend why being viewed as a likely candidate for exploitation should be flattering. Ding-Ding-Ding...thanks for playing. We have some lovely parting gifts for you, fuck you very much.
But the rest of the trip was wonderful; we sailed to Boomshakalakalaka Bay (Kealakekua Bay) where the Captain Cook Monument is located, and anchored to snorkel & swim in crystal waters. I got in the water for a bit, but I'm used to the Caribbean, where it's warm & fluffy and the water here was too chilly for me. I love the ocean, love to see and smell and hear it, but I don't necessarily have to get it on me to enjoy it. So I mostly hung out on the soothingly rocking boat, sunbathed, drank beer, sneaked cigarettes & chatted with a sweet & funny young man named Adam who reminded me of my old friend Mike Hammer in looks and wit and mannerisms. The scenery was spectacular, including the entire boat crew; we'd been tipped off by the girl at the front desk who recommended that particular excursion for that very reason.
After the boat adventure, while Megan nursed her rather serious sunburn, I went out looking for trouble in the guise of Dennis, the deliciously dirty beachbum we'd made the aquaintance of the day before. Hung out with him for a bit on the seawall in town; seems that the night before we'd missed finding him because of some confusion about where exactly we were supposed to meet. Megan & I took a right on the path where we were supposed to veer left & climbed the wrong hill.
And let's just talk about Dennis for a bit; interesting individual, very, very intense, but very unnerving as well. From our first conversation, he instilled what psychologists call aversion/compulsion in my head. Other places as well, I reckon. At least half of what he says is full of shit - probably more - but some of it showed rare insight. Enormous blue eyes that looked directly into the deepest fibers of my being, it sometimes seemed. Very intuitive, maybe a bit psychic, but maybe just manipulative. Still, he didn't seem to want anything from me & that was a draw. He wasn't trying to fuck me, or get me to show my tits, or suck his dick, buy him a drink or wash his socks. Actually, he probably doesn't even own any socks. Or underwear. But he sure as shit likes to fuck with people and was very good at yanking my chain. Why that appealed to me is god's own private mystery.
Megan & I had already booked the luau for the evening & I asked him if he'd like to join us, but he declined & gave me his cellphone number & told me to call him after the luau & we'd all have some red wine together.
Aversion/compulsion....at first, I was impatient for the luau to end. But then I started having second thoughts. It wasn't that I didn't trust him - though any sane and prudent woman wouldn't have - it was more that I didn't trust myself around him. And by then the sun (I had gotten a little burned as well, though not as bad as Megan), the long day, the drinks had all gotten to me and I got very, veerry sleeepy. So I opted not to call, after all. And slept the sleep of the dead, a rare and blessed event for me.
The Dennis Saga continues tomorrow & I'm gonna try to upload some Hawaii pics. Maybe it'll even work; been having some connection issues. This wireless shit ain't all it's cracked up to be.
Hawai'i #2
Feb 27, 2008 Aloha Chapter Two – The Punchline: “A Little Cuddle” or Welcome To The Wonderful World Of Electronic Communications, Boo
From Hilo we took our trusty saviour of a rental car through Volcano National Park, stopping periodically to admire volcanic craters, steam vents, the unnerving beauty of utter devastation and took a walk through a scarily claustrophobia-inducing lava tube. I hated it in there, but emerged confident that Pele would someday exact her revenge upon Boo and his ilk. We continued south around the island, stopping for lunch at a place called the Shaka Restaurant whose sign announced that they were the most southern bar in the USA, inspiring us to call the unpronouncable town it was in Boomshakalakalaka-Boomshakalakalaka.(In fact, now we call all the towns and streets we can't pronounce - i.e. most of them - Boomshakalakalaka-Boomshakalakalaka.)
And arrived in Kailua-Kona around four and checked into the Royal Kona Resort, which has a wonderful past-it's-prime, slightly seedy feel to it. It was clearly The Hip Place To Be back in, say, 1986. But, hey, the pounding surf is no more than 20 feet from our lanai & the price is quite reasonable. Y'know, for Hawaii. Watched an incredible sunset at a nice little outdoor restaurant/bar right next door called Huggos On The Rocks - I keep calling it Huggies - and then some live entertainment featuring little girls from a hula school doing dances and some breathtaking scantily-clad young men that compelled Megan to wonder aloud if they were on the menu.
This morning we did a little laundry, booked a snorkel trip on a catamaran for tomorrow morning & the luau for tomorrow night, had a delicious breakfast at the afore mentioned Huggos, shopped a bit, chatted with some locals, one of whom told us about a fabulous place to watch the sunset that he called "the end of the world". He was supposed to meet us there, but we got stood up. Probably for the best, I suppose....he was just my type: looked like he needed a bath, a square meal, and possibly bail money. I may have grown up, but my taste in men has not. Still, I'm going looking for him again tomorrow.
After getting stood up at sunset - though it was not at all a wasted trip, the place he directed us to was just fucking spectacular - we went to dinner. And here's the really fun part....
My cell phone rang during dinner and looking at it & seeing it was Boo again, I declined to spoil my very nice chunk of prime rib and answer it. When I checked my voicemail later, I was amused and appalled to hear a conversation between Boo and a friend of his that he clearly had no idea was being recorded for eternal posterity. I deeply wish I had the technological savvy to upload it here, but lacking that, Megan and I made a transcript:
Boo: They liked my friends, I mean they were really impressed with my friends, it was me that, uh...
Boo's friend (presumably a guy named Andrew who Boo said would tell us about Maui, our next stop): It was you that they disliked...
Boo: Yeah, just 'cause I wanted to cuddle a little, cuddle with a 28-year-old, or whatever, how old she was.
Friend: Is that how old she is? 28?...(unintelligible)
Boo: Yeah, yeah, I think she's that old.
Friend: I thought she was...how old is your niece?
Boo: My niece is in her 40's.
Friend: Oh, ok...
Boo: They're, they...they don't want any guy to fuck 'em.
END TRANS
Oh, and just for the record....we'd love some guys to fuck us. Y'know, if we could find some that aren't total fucking sexist pig assholes. Aloha, y'all!
Knowledge is free
We are Anonymous
We are legion
We do not forgive
We do not forget
Expect us
From Hilo we took our trusty saviour of a rental car through Volcano National Park, stopping periodically to admire volcanic craters, steam vents, the unnerving beauty of utter devastation and took a walk through a scarily claustrophobia-inducing lava tube. I hated it in there, but emerged confident that Pele would someday exact her revenge upon Boo and his ilk. We continued south around the island, stopping for lunch at a place called the Shaka Restaurant whose sign announced that they were the most southern bar in the USA, inspiring us to call the unpronouncable town it was in Boomshakalakalaka-Boomshakalakalaka.(In fact, now we call all the towns and streets we can't pronounce - i.e. most of them - Boomshakalakalaka-Boomshakalakalaka.)
And arrived in Kailua-Kona around four and checked into the Royal Kona Resort, which has a wonderful past-it's-prime, slightly seedy feel to it. It was clearly The Hip Place To Be back in, say, 1986. But, hey, the pounding surf is no more than 20 feet from our lanai & the price is quite reasonable. Y'know, for Hawaii. Watched an incredible sunset at a nice little outdoor restaurant/bar right next door called Huggos On The Rocks - I keep calling it Huggies - and then some live entertainment featuring little girls from a hula school doing dances and some breathtaking scantily-clad young men that compelled Megan to wonder aloud if they were on the menu.
This morning we did a little laundry, booked a snorkel trip on a catamaran for tomorrow morning & the luau for tomorrow night, had a delicious breakfast at the afore mentioned Huggos, shopped a bit, chatted with some locals, one of whom told us about a fabulous place to watch the sunset that he called "the end of the world". He was supposed to meet us there, but we got stood up. Probably for the best, I suppose....he was just my type: looked like he needed a bath, a square meal, and possibly bail money. I may have grown up, but my taste in men has not. Still, I'm going looking for him again tomorrow.
After getting stood up at sunset - though it was not at all a wasted trip, the place he directed us to was just fucking spectacular - we went to dinner. And here's the really fun part....
My cell phone rang during dinner and looking at it & seeing it was Boo again, I declined to spoil my very nice chunk of prime rib and answer it. When I checked my voicemail later, I was amused and appalled to hear a conversation between Boo and a friend of his that he clearly had no idea was being recorded for eternal posterity. I deeply wish I had the technological savvy to upload it here, but lacking that, Megan and I made a transcript:
Boo: They liked my friends, I mean they were really impressed with my friends, it was me that, uh...
Boo's friend (presumably a guy named Andrew who Boo said would tell us about Maui, our next stop): It was you that they disliked...
Boo: Yeah, just 'cause I wanted to cuddle a little, cuddle with a 28-year-old, or whatever, how old she was.
Friend: Is that how old she is? 28?...(unintelligible)
Boo: Yeah, yeah, I think she's that old.
Friend: I thought she was...how old is your niece?
Boo: My niece is in her 40's.
Friend: Oh, ok...
Boo: They're, they...they don't want any guy to fuck 'em.
END TRANS
Oh, and just for the record....we'd love some guys to fuck us. Y'know, if we could find some that aren't total fucking sexist pig assholes. Aloha, y'all!
Knowledge is free
We are Anonymous
We are legion
We do not forgive
We do not forget
Expect us
Hawai'i Blog Entry #1
Aloha, Hawaii! – Feb 27, 2008
Warning: No Holds Barred. No more mercy, no more trying to be tactful, no more fucking diplomacy.
Sunday night, Hilo Hawaii.
We came to Hawaii at my uncle Boo's invitation. He has a house here on the Big Island near Volcano Village, bordering Volcano National Park in the indescribably beautiful Hawaiian mountain rainforest. Megan & I flew to Phoenix & met up with Boo at Sky Harbor Airport for the grueling six hour flight to Kona.(somehow I always seem to have connecting flights there. I much prefer the Denver Airport because of its lovely smoking bar, but Phoenix is at least better than DFW)
I'm not gonna go into too much detail about the geographical and botanical beauties of Hawaii at this point because I have bigger ahi to fry right now, but we had a breathtakingly lovely drive around the island and through Hilo en route to Boo's house in Volcano. We arrived after dark and by then it was pretty cold up there, but we were prepared for that.
Boo began his flirtation with Megan almost immediately after we'd started our drive & Megan, good sport that she is, played along. In truth, it creeped me out a bit from the beginning, being that Boo is just about old enough to be Megan's goddamn grandfather, but I figured he was just trying to be friendly and being socially inept like all the damn Millers, was unable to express that in a more conventional manner. I suppose I'm sadly naive, but it's also true that I really don't know Boo all that well. Hell, I didn't know his brother all that well, and he was my father. I've never known how to read Boo; he's offended me & pissed me off & hurt my little feelers more than once, but my mom & my aunt Katy always told me that he didn't mean anything by the way he acted & the things he'd say, that "he's just that way". I even warned Megan about him before we left, told her he was crazy but harmless, that he might say some strange things to her, that he might bait her to see her reaction, that he might take out his glass eye out to freak her out, but "he's just that way". So even when the flirtatiousness started escalating into sexual innuendo, it still didn't set off the alarms that it maybe should have. I thought it was all in fun, just a big joke.
The first night went fine....we got to the house, we all had some drinks & food & laughs and then went to our separate beds. I slept in the bed downstairs because the stairs were more like a ladder & I thought I might break a bone trying to get down them in the dark if I had to pee & I didn't want to haul my big-ass suitcase up them. Megan slept in the room at the top of the ladder & Boo in his room just beyond. It was cold by bedtime, the temp was in the 40's & there's no heat there, but it was tolerable under 6 or 8 blankets. Barely.
During breakfast the next morning, Boo started muttering about us (I repeat, US) needing to wash everything in the house down with bleach to control the mildew (that I couldn't see or smell....it seemed to me that his neighbor had taken very good care of the house, it was well-kept and spotlessly clean to my eyes, but by then it had become apparent that Boo was more than a little OCD.) and had me make a list for the store: bleach, scouring pads, rubber gloves, trash bags, etc. At this point, I was willing to pitch in, being a compliant sort by nature. Though it did seem somewhat odd that we were being drafted as scrubwomen here in paradise.
But first, he said, we were going for a ride to see some sights & go to meet his friend Mike. And we did see some amazing sights....rainbows ("We got rainbows, whatchu got, bitch?") at Rainbow Falls, lava fields like a black moonscape, beaches with sparkling black sand, jungle flowers, mongooses (mongi?), improbably-colored birds....y'know, Hawaii. He also took me to meet his friend & stockbroker, Luanne, because he wants to move my trust account to her along with the others, which I had no objection to. She was very nice, truly friendly & invited us along on a hike she had planned for the next day & then to dinner at her home. Boo accepted her invitation and we continued our day of sightseeing & ended it with a pizza at his friend Mike's house. Boo's flirtation with Megan had continued throughout the day, complete with him introducing her to his friends as his fiance, and Megan continued to be tolerant of it, though it was becoming more tedious and juvenile than amusing. It also became evident that Boo has some control issues, since the day consisted of doing exactly what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it with not even a token consultation with us about how we might feel about it or what we might enjoy. It was late when we got back to his house & we were all tired & went to our separate beds.
But not all of us stayed there. Sometime in the middle of the night, Boo took it upon himself to crawl uninvited into Megan's bed while she slept & woke her by putting his hands under her shirt and, as Megan put it, "grinding his boner into my asscrack". I, sleeping blissfully downstairs, was unaware of this when the next morning at 5 am, before it was even light, Boo came downstairs & started banging and slamming stuff around in the kitchen and generally behaving like a spoiled 4-year-old having a temper tantrum.
I lay in bed for awhile wondering what the fuck & finally gave up & got up about six as it was getting light. Boo had the kitchen torn apart, everything out of the cabinets, drawers out of their slots, stuff piled everywhere, scrubbing the cabinets out with bleach. It was beyond bizarre, bordering on surreal, especially since he had made plans with his friend Luanne for us all to go on the hike in just a couple of hours. Even before I'd had my coffee I could tell Boo was pissed off about something so, still trying to be cooperative and conciliatory, I took up a sponge and started helping, trying to ignore the little voice in my head that was telling me that I was letting myself be jerked around, a feeling I'm all too familiar with.
By the time I heard Megan get up, I was scrubbing the seal of the refrigerator door with bleach and a toothbrush & I hear this exchange between the two of them:
Boo: "Good morning, Megan....was it as good for you as it was for me?"
Megan: "You better watch it, mister".
Though Boo's tone was jovial and joking, Megan's decidedly was not. With a feeling of dread, I went upstairs to find Megan visibly upset & repacking her suitcase. She told me what had happened and I was honestly floored. I guess I am naive, because I truly didn't see this coming. Boo had gone out for more cleaning supplies or something, so Megan & I had some coffee & tried to weigh our options. My first thought was to call Nadine & have her tear him a new asshole - which she undoubtedly would have done had she not been inconveniently dead - and then I realized with dismay that I was gonna have to be the one to tear him a new asshole. Unlike Nadine, however, I dislike confrontation and was starting to panic when I realized that we were trapped in the damn rainforest, miles and miles away from any transportation other than Boo's rental car.
When he returned, I asked him if we were still going hiking, thinking only that I needed to somehow get him to take us down the mountain to civilization. He seemed unwilling to go, talking about calling Luanne & cancelling, and while I was still trying to formulate another plan a half hour later or so, changed his mind & told us to get ready to go hiking and went out to the car & waited for us. I went out while megan was getting her shoes on & suggested to Boo that perhaps it would be better if Megan & I found another place to stay. No, no, no he said; no reason for that, we were welcome in his house. Megan came out & got in the car & we headed down the mountain. After 10 minutes or so, Boo changes his mind again, calls Luanne to cancel, and tells us that we're going to Hilo instead because he needs to buy rat poison or some such shit. Then we would come back and finish scrubbing & then go visit another friend of his. Again, we were informed of this and not asked.
A little farther along, I try again. Using my most reasonable tone, I suggest that we go to get another rental car; that way, I told him, he could do what he wanted to do & we could go do what we wanted to do, which was go hiking and swimming, as we had planned. No, no, no, that was a waste, he insisted. He talked about adding us as drivers to the rental car and then said he'd take us somewhere to go swim after he went to Home Depot in Hilo.
I was at a loss at this point; I was trying to get us out gracefully, but it was starting to look like a confrontation was unavoidable. He did indeed take us to a beach after Home Depot, where he said he'd just wait in the car for us. Megan & I went down to the water for a bit & waded, but felt even more uncomfortable knowing he was impatiently waiting in the car. So we went back & I tried again. "Boo, this is silly for you to have to sit here & wait for us. Let's go to get another car & you can go back home & we'll go exploring." No, no, no, we don't need to do that..."No, Boo, seriously. Take me to the rental car place." He finally agrees, to our great relief.
On the way there I tell him that we're gonna follow him back to the house & get our stuff & get a room in Hilo because it's too cold at his house (true) and we want to be near the water anyway (also true), neatly skirting the real issue - that being that we were not his bitches to be assigned roles (i.e. maid/sexual outlet).
This time he put up no real argument - I guess I'd gotten more determined by that point - and we got our car, followed him back up the mountain, got our stuff loaded up & made our getaway while he chatted with his neighbors, averting a real confrontation. We lit Kools, cracked a beer and cranked up 'Banditos' on the CD player: "Well, it's you and me baby, no one else we can trust, say nuthin' to no one, nohow, or we bust, and never crack a smile or flinch or cry for NOBODY." Uh uh...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IfZbFh7qlCQ
Got a great oceanfront room here at the Hilo Hawaiian and then the phone calls start. First he wants Megan's cell phone number & I refuse to give it to him. I politely declined to join him for dinner at Luanne's as well; we liked her, but were obviously not wild about hanging out with Boo any longer.
The next day we went to Akaka Falls state park & took a nice little walk & then onto the Hawaii Tropical Botanical Gardens, which was incredible....all kinds of wild plantlife that looked like they belonged on Mars or someplace, hundreds of varieties of orchids, enormous banyan trees, all set beside the crashing waves of the blue, blue Pacific. The day was marred only by Boo's calls wanting us to come to dinner at his house and my horrible feelings about trying to deal with the untenable position he had put me in. I tried to bow out gracefully again, but Boo kept asking why we weren't coming and forced the confrontation I'd tried so hard to avoid. So I told him exactly why, that Megan wasn't comfortable being around him after what he'd done (a remarkable understatment, as my friend Richard said when I related this story to him) and that I didn't blame her, that what he'd done was beyond inappropriate, that that sort of thing might have been ok for his generation but was no longer acceptable, that I was pissed that he'd put me in this position, that he'd had an opportunity to apologise but had acted like it was some big joke. I told him it wasn't a fucking joke to either Megan or me, but stopped short of telling him that his behavior was, in some places - say, courtrooms, for example - called sexual assault.
Incredibly, he responded by saying that he was just trying to get his feet warm and that he was sorry Megan was upset. Now, Megan may be only 27 years old, but I'm pretty sure she knows the difference between cold feet and a dick stuck in her ass. Clearly, there was no point in discussing this further, so I got off the phone as soon as I could and we checked out of the Hilo Hawaiian the next morning and headed for Kona and some sunsets and drinks with umbrellas in them.
Y'know, getting my crotch grabbed at the Phil Lesh show was no day at the fucking beach, as they say, but wasn't nearly as bad as the betrayal of trust by someone who we should have been able to trust, one of my few living blood relatives. Well, live and learn; not only are women not safe alone in a crowd - even a "peace-and-love" Grateful Dead crowd - but we're not even safe in the homes of those who are supposed to care about us.
Warning: No Holds Barred. No more mercy, no more trying to be tactful, no more fucking diplomacy.
Sunday night, Hilo Hawaii.
We came to Hawaii at my uncle Boo's invitation. He has a house here on the Big Island near Volcano Village, bordering Volcano National Park in the indescribably beautiful Hawaiian mountain rainforest. Megan & I flew to Phoenix & met up with Boo at Sky Harbor Airport for the grueling six hour flight to Kona.(somehow I always seem to have connecting flights there. I much prefer the Denver Airport because of its lovely smoking bar, but Phoenix is at least better than DFW)
I'm not gonna go into too much detail about the geographical and botanical beauties of Hawaii at this point because I have bigger ahi to fry right now, but we had a breathtakingly lovely drive around the island and through Hilo en route to Boo's house in Volcano. We arrived after dark and by then it was pretty cold up there, but we were prepared for that.
Boo began his flirtation with Megan almost immediately after we'd started our drive & Megan, good sport that she is, played along. In truth, it creeped me out a bit from the beginning, being that Boo is just about old enough to be Megan's goddamn grandfather, but I figured he was just trying to be friendly and being socially inept like all the damn Millers, was unable to express that in a more conventional manner. I suppose I'm sadly naive, but it's also true that I really don't know Boo all that well. Hell, I didn't know his brother all that well, and he was my father. I've never known how to read Boo; he's offended me & pissed me off & hurt my little feelers more than once, but my mom & my aunt Katy always told me that he didn't mean anything by the way he acted & the things he'd say, that "he's just that way". I even warned Megan about him before we left, told her he was crazy but harmless, that he might say some strange things to her, that he might bait her to see her reaction, that he might take out his glass eye out to freak her out, but "he's just that way". So even when the flirtatiousness started escalating into sexual innuendo, it still didn't set off the alarms that it maybe should have. I thought it was all in fun, just a big joke.
The first night went fine....we got to the house, we all had some drinks & food & laughs and then went to our separate beds. I slept in the bed downstairs because the stairs were more like a ladder & I thought I might break a bone trying to get down them in the dark if I had to pee & I didn't want to haul my big-ass suitcase up them. Megan slept in the room at the top of the ladder & Boo in his room just beyond. It was cold by bedtime, the temp was in the 40's & there's no heat there, but it was tolerable under 6 or 8 blankets. Barely.
During breakfast the next morning, Boo started muttering about us (I repeat, US) needing to wash everything in the house down with bleach to control the mildew (that I couldn't see or smell....it seemed to me that his neighbor had taken very good care of the house, it was well-kept and spotlessly clean to my eyes, but by then it had become apparent that Boo was more than a little OCD.) and had me make a list for the store: bleach, scouring pads, rubber gloves, trash bags, etc. At this point, I was willing to pitch in, being a compliant sort by nature. Though it did seem somewhat odd that we were being drafted as scrubwomen here in paradise.
But first, he said, we were going for a ride to see some sights & go to meet his friend Mike. And we did see some amazing sights....rainbows ("We got rainbows, whatchu got, bitch?") at Rainbow Falls, lava fields like a black moonscape, beaches with sparkling black sand, jungle flowers, mongooses (mongi?), improbably-colored birds....y'know, Hawaii. He also took me to meet his friend & stockbroker, Luanne, because he wants to move my trust account to her along with the others, which I had no objection to. She was very nice, truly friendly & invited us along on a hike she had planned for the next day & then to dinner at her home. Boo accepted her invitation and we continued our day of sightseeing & ended it with a pizza at his friend Mike's house. Boo's flirtation with Megan had continued throughout the day, complete with him introducing her to his friends as his fiance, and Megan continued to be tolerant of it, though it was becoming more tedious and juvenile than amusing. It also became evident that Boo has some control issues, since the day consisted of doing exactly what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it with not even a token consultation with us about how we might feel about it or what we might enjoy. It was late when we got back to his house & we were all tired & went to our separate beds.
But not all of us stayed there. Sometime in the middle of the night, Boo took it upon himself to crawl uninvited into Megan's bed while she slept & woke her by putting his hands under her shirt and, as Megan put it, "grinding his boner into my asscrack". I, sleeping blissfully downstairs, was unaware of this when the next morning at 5 am, before it was even light, Boo came downstairs & started banging and slamming stuff around in the kitchen and generally behaving like a spoiled 4-year-old having a temper tantrum.
I lay in bed for awhile wondering what the fuck & finally gave up & got up about six as it was getting light. Boo had the kitchen torn apart, everything out of the cabinets, drawers out of their slots, stuff piled everywhere, scrubbing the cabinets out with bleach. It was beyond bizarre, bordering on surreal, especially since he had made plans with his friend Luanne for us all to go on the hike in just a couple of hours. Even before I'd had my coffee I could tell Boo was pissed off about something so, still trying to be cooperative and conciliatory, I took up a sponge and started helping, trying to ignore the little voice in my head that was telling me that I was letting myself be jerked around, a feeling I'm all too familiar with.
By the time I heard Megan get up, I was scrubbing the seal of the refrigerator door with bleach and a toothbrush & I hear this exchange between the two of them:
Boo: "Good morning, Megan....was it as good for you as it was for me?"
Megan: "You better watch it, mister".
Though Boo's tone was jovial and joking, Megan's decidedly was not. With a feeling of dread, I went upstairs to find Megan visibly upset & repacking her suitcase. She told me what had happened and I was honestly floored. I guess I am naive, because I truly didn't see this coming. Boo had gone out for more cleaning supplies or something, so Megan & I had some coffee & tried to weigh our options. My first thought was to call Nadine & have her tear him a new asshole - which she undoubtedly would have done had she not been inconveniently dead - and then I realized with dismay that I was gonna have to be the one to tear him a new asshole. Unlike Nadine, however, I dislike confrontation and was starting to panic when I realized that we were trapped in the damn rainforest, miles and miles away from any transportation other than Boo's rental car.
When he returned, I asked him if we were still going hiking, thinking only that I needed to somehow get him to take us down the mountain to civilization. He seemed unwilling to go, talking about calling Luanne & cancelling, and while I was still trying to formulate another plan a half hour later or so, changed his mind & told us to get ready to go hiking and went out to the car & waited for us. I went out while megan was getting her shoes on & suggested to Boo that perhaps it would be better if Megan & I found another place to stay. No, no, no he said; no reason for that, we were welcome in his house. Megan came out & got in the car & we headed down the mountain. After 10 minutes or so, Boo changes his mind again, calls Luanne to cancel, and tells us that we're going to Hilo instead because he needs to buy rat poison or some such shit. Then we would come back and finish scrubbing & then go visit another friend of his. Again, we were informed of this and not asked.
A little farther along, I try again. Using my most reasonable tone, I suggest that we go to get another rental car; that way, I told him, he could do what he wanted to do & we could go do what we wanted to do, which was go hiking and swimming, as we had planned. No, no, no, that was a waste, he insisted. He talked about adding us as drivers to the rental car and then said he'd take us somewhere to go swim after he went to Home Depot in Hilo.
I was at a loss at this point; I was trying to get us out gracefully, but it was starting to look like a confrontation was unavoidable. He did indeed take us to a beach after Home Depot, where he said he'd just wait in the car for us. Megan & I went down to the water for a bit & waded, but felt even more uncomfortable knowing he was impatiently waiting in the car. So we went back & I tried again. "Boo, this is silly for you to have to sit here & wait for us. Let's go to get another car & you can go back home & we'll go exploring." No, no, no, we don't need to do that..."No, Boo, seriously. Take me to the rental car place." He finally agrees, to our great relief.
On the way there I tell him that we're gonna follow him back to the house & get our stuff & get a room in Hilo because it's too cold at his house (true) and we want to be near the water anyway (also true), neatly skirting the real issue - that being that we were not his bitches to be assigned roles (i.e. maid/sexual outlet).
This time he put up no real argument - I guess I'd gotten more determined by that point - and we got our car, followed him back up the mountain, got our stuff loaded up & made our getaway while he chatted with his neighbors, averting a real confrontation. We lit Kools, cracked a beer and cranked up 'Banditos' on the CD player: "Well, it's you and me baby, no one else we can trust, say nuthin' to no one, nohow, or we bust, and never crack a smile or flinch or cry for NOBODY." Uh uh...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IfZbFh7qlCQ
Got a great oceanfront room here at the Hilo Hawaiian and then the phone calls start. First he wants Megan's cell phone number & I refuse to give it to him. I politely declined to join him for dinner at Luanne's as well; we liked her, but were obviously not wild about hanging out with Boo any longer.
The next day we went to Akaka Falls state park & took a nice little walk & then onto the Hawaii Tropical Botanical Gardens, which was incredible....all kinds of wild plantlife that looked like they belonged on Mars or someplace, hundreds of varieties of orchids, enormous banyan trees, all set beside the crashing waves of the blue, blue Pacific. The day was marred only by Boo's calls wanting us to come to dinner at his house and my horrible feelings about trying to deal with the untenable position he had put me in. I tried to bow out gracefully again, but Boo kept asking why we weren't coming and forced the confrontation I'd tried so hard to avoid. So I told him exactly why, that Megan wasn't comfortable being around him after what he'd done (a remarkable understatment, as my friend Richard said when I related this story to him) and that I didn't blame her, that what he'd done was beyond inappropriate, that that sort of thing might have been ok for his generation but was no longer acceptable, that I was pissed that he'd put me in this position, that he'd had an opportunity to apologise but had acted like it was some big joke. I told him it wasn't a fucking joke to either Megan or me, but stopped short of telling him that his behavior was, in some places - say, courtrooms, for example - called sexual assault.
Incredibly, he responded by saying that he was just trying to get his feet warm and that he was sorry Megan was upset. Now, Megan may be only 27 years old, but I'm pretty sure she knows the difference between cold feet and a dick stuck in her ass. Clearly, there was no point in discussing this further, so I got off the phone as soon as I could and we checked out of the Hilo Hawaiian the next morning and headed for Kona and some sunsets and drinks with umbrellas in them.
Y'know, getting my crotch grabbed at the Phil Lesh show was no day at the fucking beach, as they say, but wasn't nearly as bad as the betrayal of trust by someone who we should have been able to trust, one of my few living blood relatives. Well, live and learn; not only are women not safe alone in a crowd - even a "peace-and-love" Grateful Dead crowd - but we're not even safe in the homes of those who are supposed to care about us.
#20
Addendum: What We Learned
1. Avoid I-10
a.) If you don’t, treat the very, very nice Border Patrol Agents with respect.
2. If you have 4–wheel drive, RTFM.
3. If at all possible, always take the long way.
4. Cars with suicide doors are great for peeing if you really have to go and there is
really no other option and it’s still 25 miles to, say, Artesia, New Mexico.
5. Cheesy music is allowed- even desirable- if not essential, on a road trip.
6. Don’t trust cute little Irish junkies with big blue eyes (complete with dilated pupils)…
7. There aren’t actually as many Starbucks as everyone thinks there are (where the fuck my Starbucks be at, betch?) Viva la Starbucks!
8. We got rainbows, whatchu got, bitch? BTW, we are the motherfuckin’ Pot Of Gold.
9. When in doubt, do it for the lulz.
10. When your friends are being cock-blockers…there’s always the bathroom.
11. Three degrees is motherfucking COLD.
12. Even if you get the red squiggly…just pull your poetic license and show it to the Border Guard saying you’re Captain Jean-Luc Picard.
13. Do NOT stop by the creepy van beside the road along the coast, even if your roommate says, “C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?’
14. Pink carnations are the two-bit whores of flora.
15. Do NOT take your new girlfriend to the Stinking Rose in North Beach where you took all your ex-girlfriends.
16. That a five-letter word can be spelled with three Zs and one vowel.
17. If you had just One Question to ask god, it should be, “Why are you such a bitch?”
18. Beware buzz-killing pseudo-hippies who are overly concerned about footprints on their carpet.
19. Buy beer before you get too deep into East Texas.
20. Tom Waits really does sound like The Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz.
21. They’re not so much rules as they are guidelines…
1. Avoid I-10
a.) If you don’t, treat the very, very nice Border Patrol Agents with respect.
2. If you have 4–wheel drive, RTFM.
3. If at all possible, always take the long way.
4. Cars with suicide doors are great for peeing if you really have to go and there is
really no other option and it’s still 25 miles to, say, Artesia, New Mexico.
5. Cheesy music is allowed- even desirable- if not essential, on a road trip.
6. Don’t trust cute little Irish junkies with big blue eyes (complete with dilated pupils)…
7. There aren’t actually as many Starbucks as everyone thinks there are (where the fuck my Starbucks be at, betch?) Viva la Starbucks!
8. We got rainbows, whatchu got, bitch? BTW, we are the motherfuckin’ Pot Of Gold.
9. When in doubt, do it for the lulz.
10. When your friends are being cock-blockers…there’s always the bathroom.
11. Three degrees is motherfucking COLD.
12. Even if you get the red squiggly…just pull your poetic license and show it to the Border Guard saying you’re Captain Jean-Luc Picard.
13. Do NOT stop by the creepy van beside the road along the coast, even if your roommate says, “C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?’
14. Pink carnations are the two-bit whores of flora.
15. Do NOT take your new girlfriend to the Stinking Rose in North Beach where you took all your ex-girlfriends.
16. That a five-letter word can be spelled with three Zs and one vowel.
17. If you had just One Question to ask god, it should be, “Why are you such a bitch?”
18. Beware buzz-killing pseudo-hippies who are overly concerned about footprints on their carpet.
19. Buy beer before you get too deep into East Texas.
20. Tom Waits really does sound like The Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz.
21. They’re not so much rules as they are guidelines…
#19
February 9, 2008 – Wrapping It all Up
I wanted to wait a coupla days before I wrote this final entry to let things set a bit. There’s still a lot to say, the question is whether I can properly say it.
But I’ll start where I last left off: Ozona, Texas. Our final short drive home was largely uneventful, except for my delight to learn that 290 hit I-10 west of San Antonio & I would be able to get back to San Marcos through Fredericksburg and the fluffy Hill Country west on 290 to RR12 in Drippin’ and avoid I-35 entirely. I-35 woulda really killed my buzz. And, also to my delight, it’s warm here. I didn’t enjoy the cold nearly as much as Megan did. But we got 70 degrees and blue skies. And, best of all, now that I’ve fallen in love with the desert, I can see it here too – the colors of the soil and the rock, the lines of the strata. Megan noticed it too and we pondered the mystery of why it’s sometimes so hard to see the beauty at home all around you.
And at home, things had been happening. Good news, for once. A message on my machine from the lady at the store where I left my wallet; it had been turned in & they were happy to put it in the mail to me. And then messages from Dale, my stock guy. Something had happened with one of mom’s companies & instead of the stock I now had $28,000 in my cash account and what did I want him to do with it? Funny you should mention that, Dale…..I think I need to go to the Keys….
And then, an email from my uncle….he’s going to Hawaii & do I want to go? Well, darn, Volcano National Park? Can I really refuse?
But there’s still so much more…
How after finding where my old dorms in Yosemite used to be & learning they had washed away, Megan & I were at lunch and I was thinking of the line “You can’t go home again”, a quote I knew was from the book Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe, a book I’ve sadly never read. I was looking out at the snow & Megan asked what I was thinking. I told her I was thinking that I need to read Look Homeward, Angel. She asked why and I said because I’d never read it. A few days later, back at the Grand Canyon I met a young man with a lit degree, a friend of Megan’s from our previous visit, and when I asked him his favorite writer it was, of course, Thomas Wolfe.
How in Death Valley, like that time in Alaska walking back from the Gold Rush cemetery and felt my brother with me for just a little while, I felt my mom. Felt her love, hokey as it sounds. And how I knew then that there are still things to learn and see and discover and love. And how it’s time to try to find a way to do those things.
I’d like to end this with some messages to some wonderful individuals: To the Kiwi Couple, wherever you are, thanks again for inviting us along for a wonderful night, y’all were great….To Harmonica Boy, I swear I didn’t mean to steal it. Keep playing….To Karin at the Grand Canyon Kennels: It gets better, I swear. …to the sweet boy in Ft. Stockton on his way to Iraq: God Bless….and, finally, to Larry: Larry, Larry, what can I say? You sure as shit had my number. What a boon to find you on that particular day. I want you to know that some of the things you said helped turn things around. And you made me laugh my ass off doing it. If you’re ever in Central Texas on pepper-related business, email me & we’ll all have a drink or ten. Signing off for now…watch for Volume Two: Hawaii! Aloha, y’all!
I wanted to wait a coupla days before I wrote this final entry to let things set a bit. There’s still a lot to say, the question is whether I can properly say it.
But I’ll start where I last left off: Ozona, Texas. Our final short drive home was largely uneventful, except for my delight to learn that 290 hit I-10 west of San Antonio & I would be able to get back to San Marcos through Fredericksburg and the fluffy Hill Country west on 290 to RR12 in Drippin’ and avoid I-35 entirely. I-35 woulda really killed my buzz. And, also to my delight, it’s warm here. I didn’t enjoy the cold nearly as much as Megan did. But we got 70 degrees and blue skies. And, best of all, now that I’ve fallen in love with the desert, I can see it here too – the colors of the soil and the rock, the lines of the strata. Megan noticed it too and we pondered the mystery of why it’s sometimes so hard to see the beauty at home all around you.
And at home, things had been happening. Good news, for once. A message on my machine from the lady at the store where I left my wallet; it had been turned in & they were happy to put it in the mail to me. And then messages from Dale, my stock guy. Something had happened with one of mom’s companies & instead of the stock I now had $28,000 in my cash account and what did I want him to do with it? Funny you should mention that, Dale…..I think I need to go to the Keys….
And then, an email from my uncle….he’s going to Hawaii & do I want to go? Well, darn, Volcano National Park? Can I really refuse?
But there’s still so much more…
How after finding where my old dorms in Yosemite used to be & learning they had washed away, Megan & I were at lunch and I was thinking of the line “You can’t go home again”, a quote I knew was from the book Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe, a book I’ve sadly never read. I was looking out at the snow & Megan asked what I was thinking. I told her I was thinking that I need to read Look Homeward, Angel. She asked why and I said because I’d never read it. A few days later, back at the Grand Canyon I met a young man with a lit degree, a friend of Megan’s from our previous visit, and when I asked him his favorite writer it was, of course, Thomas Wolfe.
How in Death Valley, like that time in Alaska walking back from the Gold Rush cemetery and felt my brother with me for just a little while, I felt my mom. Felt her love, hokey as it sounds. And how I knew then that there are still things to learn and see and discover and love. And how it’s time to try to find a way to do those things.
I’d like to end this with some messages to some wonderful individuals: To the Kiwi Couple, wherever you are, thanks again for inviting us along for a wonderful night, y’all were great….To Harmonica Boy, I swear I didn’t mean to steal it. Keep playing….To Karin at the Grand Canyon Kennels: It gets better, I swear. …to the sweet boy in Ft. Stockton on his way to Iraq: God Bless….and, finally, to Larry: Larry, Larry, what can I say? You sure as shit had my number. What a boon to find you on that particular day. I want you to know that some of the things you said helped turn things around. And you made me laugh my ass off doing it. If you’re ever in Central Texas on pepper-related business, email me & we’ll all have a drink or ten. Signing off for now…watch for Volume Two: Hawaii! Aloha, y’all!
#18
February 6, 2008 Deep In The Heart Of West Texas
And the stars are indeed big & bright here.
But back to Pahrump. The only motel in town that wasn't a casino was full, so we checked into Saddle West Hotel & Casino. 'Nali was allowed, but not in the room alone, so we locked her in the car (she doesn't freak out in the car) for a bit while we went to eat & then I showed Megan what I know about video poker, i.e. not much. We flushed dollar bills down the toilet for a half hour or so & then bailed. Everyone was very old in Pahrump, except for our waiter, who was gay. The next morning we got the very worst coffee I've ever had in my life at the restaurant - evidently The Coffee Revolution has yet to reach Pahrump ("Where my motherfuckin' Starbucks be at?).
We were heading back to the Grand Canyon for the night; Megan wanted to touch base with some folks she'd met there & is considering going to work there. But first we had to get through Vegas.
I must say here, Megan & I have been picking obscure roads off the map knowing nothing about them, choosing them because they looked interesting or just because they went vaguely in the direction we wanted to go. And every one of them has been just fabulously scenic and beautiful. The road from Pahrump to Vegas was as well, and quite unexpectedly so. We tried to get through Vegas as quickly as possible, i.e. not very. But after that got to drive around Lake Mead, which was an improbable sapphire blue & over Hoover Dam, which, for some reason, did not look nearly as big as I thought it would. 'Course, I'd just come from Death Valley...it sorta re-defined 'big' for me.
And in the surprisingly pleasant little town of Boulder City, Nevada we finally found our Starbucks! Late that afternoon, the afore mentioned wallet mishap occurred, and what with all the backtracking didn't get into the Grand Canyon until late, but still managed to squeeze in time for a few beers with some Grand Canyon Boys.
And we were off again the next morning, heading south and for home. And I was again surprised at how beautiful the desert can be...I mentioned Flagstaff was nice, and Phoenix was horrific, but Tucson and even Las Cruces seemed much pleasanter places than I remembered them being. We went through a really creepy town called Casa Grande, though....it was very strange, there were acres and acres of brand new housing developemnts that all seemed to have no real reason to be there. It was about midway between Phoenix & Tucson, but not really close enough to either to be a suburb. There were almost a dozen brand new, not yet opened strip malls along the main road, but only one gas station. There really didn't seem to be that many people. The whole place seemed like it hadn't so much sprung up as been installed. Then off in the distance we saw a sinister looking industrial sort of complex and realized that some huge multinational conglomerate had their kitten-killing factory there or something, so we ran for our lives.
After spending last night in Lordsburg, New Mexico, when we got to Las Cruces this morning we decided to get off I-10 and take a roundabout way around El Paso. I had several reasons for doing this, one of which turned out not to matter anyway - it seems that the Border Patrol is smarter than I am. We drove up into the mountains northeast of Las Cruces and through White Sands Missile Range. Who would have thought they'd put a Border Patrol Checkpoint at the end of White Sands Missile Range? But there it was. So Megan & I got to chat with some very, very nice Border Patrol Agents and became acquainted with their friendly dogs before they finally - and to our great relief - sent us on our way.
Then on through Alamogordo and into our last mountains and Lincoln National Forest. Through a few pretty mountain towns like Cloudcroft and Mayhill and then out onto the most nothing I've ever seen. It wasn't even really desert...just nothing. Through a pathetic little town named Hope whose fire station had burned down. No, really. Another grim communiity called Artesia (Town Motto: Not As Bad As Nocona, or, At Least We Didn't Burn Down Our Fire Station.) Continued south through Carlsbad and into Texas, on through Pecos and rejoining I-10 at Ft. Stockton. We had planned to overnight there, but, quite unexpectedly couldn't find any vacant rooms. I theorized that there was a Large Brightly-Colored Truck Convention in town, but one desk clerk told us that it was all the oil field workers & workers building the nearby windmill farm. Mighta been a good place to find a date, but not, evidently, to sleep so we grabbed a pizza - meeting a baby-faced young man on his way to Killeen & ultimately Iraq - and pushed on another hundred miles to the next town, Ozona, where we are spending our last night on the road. I think San Antonio's only about 200 miles from here, so we'll be home fairly early tomorrow.
Frankly, neither of us are all that happy about it.
And the stars are indeed big & bright here.
But back to Pahrump. The only motel in town that wasn't a casino was full, so we checked into Saddle West Hotel & Casino. 'Nali was allowed, but not in the room alone, so we locked her in the car (she doesn't freak out in the car) for a bit while we went to eat & then I showed Megan what I know about video poker, i.e. not much. We flushed dollar bills down the toilet for a half hour or so & then bailed. Everyone was very old in Pahrump, except for our waiter, who was gay. The next morning we got the very worst coffee I've ever had in my life at the restaurant - evidently The Coffee Revolution has yet to reach Pahrump ("Where my motherfuckin' Starbucks be at?).
We were heading back to the Grand Canyon for the night; Megan wanted to touch base with some folks she'd met there & is considering going to work there. But first we had to get through Vegas.
I must say here, Megan & I have been picking obscure roads off the map knowing nothing about them, choosing them because they looked interesting or just because they went vaguely in the direction we wanted to go. And every one of them has been just fabulously scenic and beautiful. The road from Pahrump to Vegas was as well, and quite unexpectedly so. We tried to get through Vegas as quickly as possible, i.e. not very. But after that got to drive around Lake Mead, which was an improbable sapphire blue & over Hoover Dam, which, for some reason, did not look nearly as big as I thought it would. 'Course, I'd just come from Death Valley...it sorta re-defined 'big' for me.
And in the surprisingly pleasant little town of Boulder City, Nevada we finally found our Starbucks! Late that afternoon, the afore mentioned wallet mishap occurred, and what with all the backtracking didn't get into the Grand Canyon until late, but still managed to squeeze in time for a few beers with some Grand Canyon Boys.
And we were off again the next morning, heading south and for home. And I was again surprised at how beautiful the desert can be...I mentioned Flagstaff was nice, and Phoenix was horrific, but Tucson and even Las Cruces seemed much pleasanter places than I remembered them being. We went through a really creepy town called Casa Grande, though....it was very strange, there were acres and acres of brand new housing developemnts that all seemed to have no real reason to be there. It was about midway between Phoenix & Tucson, but not really close enough to either to be a suburb. There were almost a dozen brand new, not yet opened strip malls along the main road, but only one gas station. There really didn't seem to be that many people. The whole place seemed like it hadn't so much sprung up as been installed. Then off in the distance we saw a sinister looking industrial sort of complex and realized that some huge multinational conglomerate had their kitten-killing factory there or something, so we ran for our lives.
After spending last night in Lordsburg, New Mexico, when we got to Las Cruces this morning we decided to get off I-10 and take a roundabout way around El Paso. I had several reasons for doing this, one of which turned out not to matter anyway - it seems that the Border Patrol is smarter than I am. We drove up into the mountains northeast of Las Cruces and through White Sands Missile Range. Who would have thought they'd put a Border Patrol Checkpoint at the end of White Sands Missile Range? But there it was. So Megan & I got to chat with some very, very nice Border Patrol Agents and became acquainted with their friendly dogs before they finally - and to our great relief - sent us on our way.
Then on through Alamogordo and into our last mountains and Lincoln National Forest. Through a few pretty mountain towns like Cloudcroft and Mayhill and then out onto the most nothing I've ever seen. It wasn't even really desert...just nothing. Through a pathetic little town named Hope whose fire station had burned down. No, really. Another grim communiity called Artesia (Town Motto: Not As Bad As Nocona, or, At Least We Didn't Burn Down Our Fire Station.) Continued south through Carlsbad and into Texas, on through Pecos and rejoining I-10 at Ft. Stockton. We had planned to overnight there, but, quite unexpectedly couldn't find any vacant rooms. I theorized that there was a Large Brightly-Colored Truck Convention in town, but one desk clerk told us that it was all the oil field workers & workers building the nearby windmill farm. Mighta been a good place to find a date, but not, evidently, to sleep so we grabbed a pizza - meeting a baby-faced young man on his way to Killeen & ultimately Iraq - and pushed on another hundred miles to the next town, Ozona, where we are spending our last night on the road. I think San Antonio's only about 200 miles from here, so we'll be home fairly early tomorrow.
Frankly, neither of us are all that happy about it.
#17
February 6, 2008 – Where My Motherfuckin’ Wallet Be At?
OK, so I didn't leave my heart in San Francisco, but I did leave my wallet in a gas station ladies room in Winslow, Arizona (OK, so it was really Williams, not Winslow, but I figured I'd use a little poetic license. Unfortunately, my poetic license was in my damn wallet.)
I realized it an hour out & we went back, but no one had turned it in. Luckily, I had just gotten gas & stuck a credit card in my pocket, so there is that. Called my wonderful friend & personal banker Dena & had her kill my debit card & called the other credit card companies & killed those, so it's not a complete disaster, but is causing some inconviences.
But back to Death Valley....I really wasn't at all prepared for what I found there and I'm certainly not a good enough writer to properly describe it. I'm not sure anybody is. Suffice to say: Go There. I'm already planning a return trip to spend a few days at the mirage-like Furnace Creek Inn there. Oh, and if you go, play Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here as you drive through....it really worked for us.
We walked, we viewed, we cried, we took pictures, we stole rocks & sand, we danced, we all peed in the desert, we drove some more & repeated these actions several times. But the pictures don't catch the magic, the video doesn't capture the sheer vastness, the rocks aren't as deeply colored now that we've taken them from their homes. But we know. We were there.
Death Valley was also the scene of Megan's and my only real moment of contention. We both wanted to find The Racetrack, where some bizarre combination of weather & geology causes enormous boulders to move, seemingly under their own power across a dry lake bed leaving deep tracks. We finally found the road, but I was unnerved by a sign that read "High Clearance: 4 Wheel Drive Recommended". The irony is that my car actually does have 4 wheel drive, but neither Megan or I have any idea how to use it. (Note to self: RTFM). I was further dismayed by the next sign that informed us that The Racetrack was 27 miles away. But we didn't want to give up without at least trying, so I turned onto the road. 'Road' may actually be too strong a word, really....it was so bad that Megan speculated that it had been deliberately constructed that way, but I have doubts that even the spectacularly mis-guided and mis-managed Park Service would come that far & invest that much time & energy in such folly. But you never know. The speed limit sign optimistically read '35 MPH', but I can't imagine the masochist who would attempt anything that painful. I couldn't go over 5 MPH and it was bone-shattering. But Megan, younger and more resilient than I, was caught up in the adventure & wanted to see how far we could go. I wondered aloud whether she had done the math on how long it would take to go 54 miles at 5 miles an hour, and after a little snapping back & forth, we did indeed give up & turn back. But, as Megan & I are both grownups, we worked out our differences by the time we got back to the real road and moved on.
We headed out at sunset, east towards Nevada, deciding to overnight in the adorably-named Pahrump, which for some reason makes me think of cartoon elephants. Kind of a sad little town, but not without a certain seedy charm. And since it was just over the Nevada border, had several shiny, dazzling casinos.
More on Pahrump later...Megan's finally up & we're hitting the road towards home...we'll make it into Texas sometime today. Anybody out there wanna vote on whether after a rest-up back home, we should head onto the southeast? New Orleans, the Everglades, the Keys, Savannah, Charleston?
OK, so I didn't leave my heart in San Francisco, but I did leave my wallet in a gas station ladies room in Winslow, Arizona (OK, so it was really Williams, not Winslow, but I figured I'd use a little poetic license. Unfortunately, my poetic license was in my damn wallet.)
I realized it an hour out & we went back, but no one had turned it in. Luckily, I had just gotten gas & stuck a credit card in my pocket, so there is that. Called my wonderful friend & personal banker Dena & had her kill my debit card & called the other credit card companies & killed those, so it's not a complete disaster, but is causing some inconviences.
But back to Death Valley....I really wasn't at all prepared for what I found there and I'm certainly not a good enough writer to properly describe it. I'm not sure anybody is. Suffice to say: Go There. I'm already planning a return trip to spend a few days at the mirage-like Furnace Creek Inn there. Oh, and if you go, play Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here as you drive through....it really worked for us.
We walked, we viewed, we cried, we took pictures, we stole rocks & sand, we danced, we all peed in the desert, we drove some more & repeated these actions several times. But the pictures don't catch the magic, the video doesn't capture the sheer vastness, the rocks aren't as deeply colored now that we've taken them from their homes. But we know. We were there.
Death Valley was also the scene of Megan's and my only real moment of contention. We both wanted to find The Racetrack, where some bizarre combination of weather & geology causes enormous boulders to move, seemingly under their own power across a dry lake bed leaving deep tracks. We finally found the road, but I was unnerved by a sign that read "High Clearance: 4 Wheel Drive Recommended". The irony is that my car actually does have 4 wheel drive, but neither Megan or I have any idea how to use it. (Note to self: RTFM). I was further dismayed by the next sign that informed us that The Racetrack was 27 miles away. But we didn't want to give up without at least trying, so I turned onto the road. 'Road' may actually be too strong a word, really....it was so bad that Megan speculated that it had been deliberately constructed that way, but I have doubts that even the spectacularly mis-guided and mis-managed Park Service would come that far & invest that much time & energy in such folly. But you never know. The speed limit sign optimistically read '35 MPH', but I can't imagine the masochist who would attempt anything that painful. I couldn't go over 5 MPH and it was bone-shattering. But Megan, younger and more resilient than I, was caught up in the adventure & wanted to see how far we could go. I wondered aloud whether she had done the math on how long it would take to go 54 miles at 5 miles an hour, and after a little snapping back & forth, we did indeed give up & turn back. But, as Megan & I are both grownups, we worked out our differences by the time we got back to the real road and moved on.
We headed out at sunset, east towards Nevada, deciding to overnight in the adorably-named Pahrump, which for some reason makes me think of cartoon elephants. Kind of a sad little town, but not without a certain seedy charm. And since it was just over the Nevada border, had several shiny, dazzling casinos.
More on Pahrump later...Megan's finally up & we're hitting the road towards home...we'll make it into Texas sometime today. Anybody out there wanna vote on whether after a rest-up back home, we should head onto the southeast? New Orleans, the Everglades, the Keys, Savannah, Charleston?
#16
February 5, 2008 – Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost
Lester Burnham, the Kevin Spacey character in American Beauty said, "It's a wonderful thing to learn that you haven't lost the ability to surprise yourself."
I went on this trip as a journey following my heart to the California coast. The desert was just something between me and it. And I wasn't surprised when California broke my heart in a dozen different ways. But I never expected I'd fall in love with the desert. Death Valley touched me in a place that even Big Sur & Yosemite didn't, amazing as they are. There's something different about the desert; clean and pure in its angular harshness, stark, with nothing hidden. I theorized today that god made the desert so unforgiving so that we couldn't possibly fuck it up. Its beauty is in its sheer brutality. The awesome emptiness and unearthly silence and the absolute clarity of the light.
But again, I'm ahead of myself....
After our second night at the lovely Yosemite View Lodge in El Portal, we woke to a reasonably clear day to take one more twirl around Yosemite & take the Wawona-Fresno road out of the park. We finally got un-Obscured-By-Clouds (obscure Pink Floyd reference) views of El Capitan (the largest exposed granite face/phallic symbol in North America) and the oft-photographed and mis-named Half-Dome (It's actually a quarter-dome...look at all the angles).
And then started up highway 41 to Fresno and despite repeated warning signs about chains and other chickenshit bullshit, made it up treacherous icy mountainous roads and we were almost to Wawona where the road gets better and then...
We came around a curve and there was clearly a problem ahead. It seemed to involve fallen trees and Alpha Male dudes and trucks and chains but, interestingly enough, no Park Service Employees. ("Where my motherfuckin' park rangers be at?") We waited patiently and eventually we were go and Wawona was reached and we all got down the mountain safely.
Bound for Death Valley, we headed for Bakersfield ("all roads lead toward Bakersfield"), but determined not to spend another night there, we continued onto Barstow, forever immortalized by the opening sentence of Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, "We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold..."
Lester Burnham, the Kevin Spacey character in American Beauty said, "It's a wonderful thing to learn that you haven't lost the ability to surprise yourself."
I went on this trip as a journey following my heart to the California coast. The desert was just something between me and it. And I wasn't surprised when California broke my heart in a dozen different ways. But I never expected I'd fall in love with the desert. Death Valley touched me in a place that even Big Sur & Yosemite didn't, amazing as they are. There's something different about the desert; clean and pure in its angular harshness, stark, with nothing hidden. I theorized today that god made the desert so unforgiving so that we couldn't possibly fuck it up. Its beauty is in its sheer brutality. The awesome emptiness and unearthly silence and the absolute clarity of the light.
But again, I'm ahead of myself....
After our second night at the lovely Yosemite View Lodge in El Portal, we woke to a reasonably clear day to take one more twirl around Yosemite & take the Wawona-Fresno road out of the park. We finally got un-Obscured-By-Clouds (obscure Pink Floyd reference) views of El Capitan (the largest exposed granite face/phallic symbol in North America) and the oft-photographed and mis-named Half-Dome (It's actually a quarter-dome...look at all the angles).
And then started up highway 41 to Fresno and despite repeated warning signs about chains and other chickenshit bullshit, made it up treacherous icy mountainous roads and we were almost to Wawona where the road gets better and then...
We came around a curve and there was clearly a problem ahead. It seemed to involve fallen trees and Alpha Male dudes and trucks and chains but, interestingly enough, no Park Service Employees. ("Where my motherfuckin' park rangers be at?") We waited patiently and eventually we were go and Wawona was reached and we all got down the mountain safely.
Bound for Death Valley, we headed for Bakersfield ("all roads lead toward Bakersfield"), but determined not to spend another night there, we continued onto Barstow, forever immortalized by the opening sentence of Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, "We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold..."
#15
February 2, 2008 – Bright And Dazzling: Chapter Two
So the next day 'hangover' was the word of the day. Mine anyway. Megan dragged me out into the unrelentingly cold and rainy early afternoon to go to Sausalito, where we did what all the other tourists did: went to Starbucks (Quote for the Day: "Where my motherfuckin' Starbucks be at?") and wandered about in the cold and rain and looked at shiny things that we couldn't afford. But I did fall in love with a new artist, Daniel Merriam, and a saw a print that mesmerized me. I could have bought it too....but there's enough Nadine in me to think to go & do a little research before dropping two grand, no matter how dazzling it was. And sure enough...if I really want it, there's a gallery in Portland that'll sell one to me for $1600. Actually, I learned that it's probably a good investment & I may look into it when I get home & assess my financial situation. In the evening we just hung out at the Inn of Marin & my buddy Richard came & joined us for pizza.
And it was off to spend some time in The Big City the next day....and, again, the weather miraculously cleared for us. Cold as shit down by the wharf where we were staying, but clear. Twirled around the wharf awhile, had lunch at the ever-popular Alioto's (I've dreamt about their crabcakes), bought attractive & stylish (Megan's) & warm & fuzzy (mine) hats at Pier 39, had the inevitable cappucino ("Where my motherfuckin' Starbucks be at?"), bought outrageously overpriced gourmet dog cookies at a fancy pet accessory store down there (I refrained from any of their selection of collars although 'Nali's has been misplaced during the trip....really, $29 for a dog collar?!?), watched the sea lions and the other wildlife, human and otherwise. I finally sent Megan off on the obligatory Bay Tour on her own....again, got too damn cold for me.
That evening we headed out for my personal favorite area of SF, North Beach, to City Lights Books & some fabulous Italian food. And all was shiny, right up until we got called, and I quote, "Fucking Tourist Swine" for doing nothing more than walking the streets of that fair city.
I must take a moment here to elaborate on the issue of the San Francisco street people. Yeah, I know, I know, we got a buncha them in Austin too. Always have. I'm not sure what it is about the SF sreet people that's different. Are there more? Maybe, but there's no shortage in Austin....crazier? Hard to see how or why and for the folks out there who are familiar with Leslie, you certainly can appreciate my point....One thing's for damn sure: they're a helluva lot more aggressive. But there's some other quality here that really bothers me too....it seems more sad and desperate here somehow. Maybe they've just lost their people skills; after all, approaching someone by initially calling them 'fucking tourist swine' is hardly the way to go about hustling spare change.
Got a few great books at City Lights (because I don't have enough yet) and wandered through North Beach and picked our restaurant by which one smelled the best. The Steps of Rome Trattoria, I believe it was, where we had the stereotypical Charming Italian Waiter and, to our great fortune were seated next to the afore mentioned Kiwi Couple.
What a pair they were....outspoken, hard-drinking and madly in love. Something about their backstory didn't add up; he seemed a lot older than he claimed to be and she seemed younger, but we all had a grand time over dinner, tasting each others wine and sharing travel stories. They invited us to join then at a jazz club down the street and we went to this wonderful bar that felt just like home when we walked in. Instead of jazz, the band was playin' great dancing rock 'n' roll, everything from Elvis to the Ramones. We danced and drank beer until the wee hours and Megan and I made lots of new friends. I coulda even got laid that night, but I chickened. Kinda regretted it later because he was real sweet and very, very cute and played a nice harmonica too (somehow, I ended up with his harmonica....maybe I'll learn to play the blues on it) but I lost my nerve and Megan & I went fleeing into the night. Megan & I arrived back at our room around 2am, giggling & re-hashing the evening, until we received a call from the front desk, asking us to keep our conversation down. No music, our conversation. I mentioned we were down by the wharf in San Fran-fucking-cisco, right? In a neighborhood where, evidently, they pick up the trash at all the buildings surrounding this particular hotel at different times like 3:12 am, 3:47 am, 4:16 am, etc.
We had lots of plans for the next day and accomplished none. We both ended up sleeping til 2 pm. All that walking up and down hills, you know.
So we finally dragged our collective asses out on the street around four and since it was again raining we went just down the street to the Boudin Sourdough Bread restaurant & bar. Where we made the acquaintance of yet another new friend....Larry the Pepper Guy. He was from Colorado, vice-president of a pepper distributing company. Full of good stories and funny as hell. Megan & I kidnapped him & took him back to our room and plied him with a certain illegal substance that California is known for which he had not imbibed in ten years. I think we scared him, though, because he went fleeing into the Sam Spade night soon after.
The next morning we headed back up north of the city and bailed 'Nali out of Dog Jail and took a long and meandering and wonderful drive from somewhere near Santa Rosa through Sebastopol northwest back to the coast along Sonoma State Beach. Our buddy Larry from the night before recommended we drive out to the lighthouse at the tip of Point Reyes, so we headed south along the coast through Bodega Bay where I kept a nervous eye out for flocks of killer birds. Drove all the way out Point Reyes to land's end, headed back, got lost briefly in Petaluma & by sunset were driving through Napa Valley, heading east towards Yosemite. I left the Bay Area with conflicting emotions, admittedly, but I still cried as I watched the city lights fade away in the rearview mirror.
Spent that night in Stockton, California, a strong contender for The Asscrack of America Award. Too tired to search for anything decent, it was Denny's For Dinner once again.
And were back on the road in the morning, heading for the hills. The Sierra Nevada Goddamn Mountains. And, apparently, right into a blizzard, though that term may be a bit strong. We got into the park, though we were supposed to have chains. All in all, it wasn't too bad, though. Went & had a little snack & a glass of wine at the impressive & historic Ahwanhee Hotel where I worked in the kitchen once upon a time & admired the huge fireplaces & Native American art. Headed on down to the lodge area where Megan wanted to walk the short trail to the Lower Yosemite Falls, but I wasn't dressed for the weather yet - lots of snow coming down - so 'Nali & I waited in the car. It only takes about five minutes in summer, but I figured if she wasn't back in a day or so I could always eat the dog. '
'Nali wasn't allowed in the park accomodations & what with the whole tire chain issue & the snow coming harder, we decided to head out of the actual park & seek shelter in El Portal just down the road, but lower enough in elevation that it was just rain there. And lucked again into a wonderful place to stay, The Yosemite View Lodge, where we have a room with the Merced River rushing right off our balcony. Also equipped with a cozy gas fireplace and a big-ass jacuzzi tub. All for a $119 a night. Travelling off-season does have its benefits. Had a great dinner at the hotel restaurant/bar as the only guests & played Are You Smarter Than A Fifth-Grader on TV with the bartender.
This morning it was still misty/foggy and gray, but the rain had stopped, so after we got some laundry done, we headed back into the park. Had a couple of really close encounters with some wildlife, twice with a sad-eyed coyote panhandling off cars beside the road and one with a bobcat sauntering casually along a road next to some service buildings. Megan got great video & pics of all of it! No bears, though. They're probably all asleep.
Took a coupla nice walks, out the Lower Falls Trail and out across the bridge in the meadow near where I used to live. Looked for the old dorms, but they were gone. Later talked to an old-time employee who told me they were lost to a flood in '97.
I was right, though, when I said to Megan, "They should be right here."
So the next day 'hangover' was the word of the day. Mine anyway. Megan dragged me out into the unrelentingly cold and rainy early afternoon to go to Sausalito, where we did what all the other tourists did: went to Starbucks (Quote for the Day: "Where my motherfuckin' Starbucks be at?") and wandered about in the cold and rain and looked at shiny things that we couldn't afford. But I did fall in love with a new artist, Daniel Merriam, and a saw a print that mesmerized me. I could have bought it too....but there's enough Nadine in me to think to go & do a little research before dropping two grand, no matter how dazzling it was. And sure enough...if I really want it, there's a gallery in Portland that'll sell one to me for $1600. Actually, I learned that it's probably a good investment & I may look into it when I get home & assess my financial situation. In the evening we just hung out at the Inn of Marin & my buddy Richard came & joined us for pizza.
And it was off to spend some time in The Big City the next day....and, again, the weather miraculously cleared for us. Cold as shit down by the wharf where we were staying, but clear. Twirled around the wharf awhile, had lunch at the ever-popular Alioto's (I've dreamt about their crabcakes), bought attractive & stylish (Megan's) & warm & fuzzy (mine) hats at Pier 39, had the inevitable cappucino ("Where my motherfuckin' Starbucks be at?"), bought outrageously overpriced gourmet dog cookies at a fancy pet accessory store down there (I refrained from any of their selection of collars although 'Nali's has been misplaced during the trip....really, $29 for a dog collar?!?), watched the sea lions and the other wildlife, human and otherwise. I finally sent Megan off on the obligatory Bay Tour on her own....again, got too damn cold for me.
That evening we headed out for my personal favorite area of SF, North Beach, to City Lights Books & some fabulous Italian food. And all was shiny, right up until we got called, and I quote, "Fucking Tourist Swine" for doing nothing more than walking the streets of that fair city.
I must take a moment here to elaborate on the issue of the San Francisco street people. Yeah, I know, I know, we got a buncha them in Austin too. Always have. I'm not sure what it is about the SF sreet people that's different. Are there more? Maybe, but there's no shortage in Austin....crazier? Hard to see how or why and for the folks out there who are familiar with Leslie, you certainly can appreciate my point....One thing's for damn sure: they're a helluva lot more aggressive. But there's some other quality here that really bothers me too....it seems more sad and desperate here somehow. Maybe they've just lost their people skills; after all, approaching someone by initially calling them 'fucking tourist swine' is hardly the way to go about hustling spare change.
Got a few great books at City Lights (because I don't have enough yet) and wandered through North Beach and picked our restaurant by which one smelled the best. The Steps of Rome Trattoria, I believe it was, where we had the stereotypical Charming Italian Waiter and, to our great fortune were seated next to the afore mentioned Kiwi Couple.
What a pair they were....outspoken, hard-drinking and madly in love. Something about their backstory didn't add up; he seemed a lot older than he claimed to be and she seemed younger, but we all had a grand time over dinner, tasting each others wine and sharing travel stories. They invited us to join then at a jazz club down the street and we went to this wonderful bar that felt just like home when we walked in. Instead of jazz, the band was playin' great dancing rock 'n' roll, everything from Elvis to the Ramones. We danced and drank beer until the wee hours and Megan and I made lots of new friends. I coulda even got laid that night, but I chickened. Kinda regretted it later because he was real sweet and very, very cute and played a nice harmonica too (somehow, I ended up with his harmonica....maybe I'll learn to play the blues on it) but I lost my nerve and Megan & I went fleeing into the night. Megan & I arrived back at our room around 2am, giggling & re-hashing the evening, until we received a call from the front desk, asking us to keep our conversation down. No music, our conversation. I mentioned we were down by the wharf in San Fran-fucking-cisco, right? In a neighborhood where, evidently, they pick up the trash at all the buildings surrounding this particular hotel at different times like 3:12 am, 3:47 am, 4:16 am, etc.
We had lots of plans for the next day and accomplished none. We both ended up sleeping til 2 pm. All that walking up and down hills, you know.
So we finally dragged our collective asses out on the street around four and since it was again raining we went just down the street to the Boudin Sourdough Bread restaurant & bar. Where we made the acquaintance of yet another new friend....Larry the Pepper Guy. He was from Colorado, vice-president of a pepper distributing company. Full of good stories and funny as hell. Megan & I kidnapped him & took him back to our room and plied him with a certain illegal substance that California is known for which he had not imbibed in ten years. I think we scared him, though, because he went fleeing into the Sam Spade night soon after.
The next morning we headed back up north of the city and bailed 'Nali out of Dog Jail and took a long and meandering and wonderful drive from somewhere near Santa Rosa through Sebastopol northwest back to the coast along Sonoma State Beach. Our buddy Larry from the night before recommended we drive out to the lighthouse at the tip of Point Reyes, so we headed south along the coast through Bodega Bay where I kept a nervous eye out for flocks of killer birds. Drove all the way out Point Reyes to land's end, headed back, got lost briefly in Petaluma & by sunset were driving through Napa Valley, heading east towards Yosemite. I left the Bay Area with conflicting emotions, admittedly, but I still cried as I watched the city lights fade away in the rearview mirror.
Spent that night in Stockton, California, a strong contender for The Asscrack of America Award. Too tired to search for anything decent, it was Denny's For Dinner once again.
And were back on the road in the morning, heading for the hills. The Sierra Nevada Goddamn Mountains. And, apparently, right into a blizzard, though that term may be a bit strong. We got into the park, though we were supposed to have chains. All in all, it wasn't too bad, though. Went & had a little snack & a glass of wine at the impressive & historic Ahwanhee Hotel where I worked in the kitchen once upon a time & admired the huge fireplaces & Native American art. Headed on down to the lodge area where Megan wanted to walk the short trail to the Lower Yosemite Falls, but I wasn't dressed for the weather yet - lots of snow coming down - so 'Nali & I waited in the car. It only takes about five minutes in summer, but I figured if she wasn't back in a day or so I could always eat the dog. '
'Nali wasn't allowed in the park accomodations & what with the whole tire chain issue & the snow coming harder, we decided to head out of the actual park & seek shelter in El Portal just down the road, but lower enough in elevation that it was just rain there. And lucked again into a wonderful place to stay, The Yosemite View Lodge, where we have a room with the Merced River rushing right off our balcony. Also equipped with a cozy gas fireplace and a big-ass jacuzzi tub. All for a $119 a night. Travelling off-season does have its benefits. Had a great dinner at the hotel restaurant/bar as the only guests & played Are You Smarter Than A Fifth-Grader on TV with the bartender.
This morning it was still misty/foggy and gray, but the rain had stopped, so after we got some laundry done, we headed back into the park. Had a couple of really close encounters with some wildlife, twice with a sad-eyed coyote panhandling off cars beside the road and one with a bobcat sauntering casually along a road next to some service buildings. Megan got great video & pics of all of it! No bears, though. They're probably all asleep.
Took a coupla nice walks, out the Lower Falls Trail and out across the bridge in the meadow near where I used to live. Looked for the old dorms, but they were gone. Later talked to an old-time employee who told me they were lost to a flood in '97.
I was right, though, when I said to Megan, "They should be right here."
#14
January 29, 2008 “It’s So Bright And Dazzling…” ver 2.0 – Edited And Expanded!
Ah, Northern California....I really did take for granted growing up somewhere this beautiful. And it really is, and in so many ways. But seeing it again now, through my jaded and cynical eyes, well....let's just say I've been struggling with the dichotomy here.
I last lived here when I was eighteen years old, so I suppose it's not at all surprising that I have no memory of the ugly underbelly, the reality behind the shiny, happy surface. And it's easy to get fooled by that surface: the liberal politics that formed my philosophies and the oh-so-socially-correct way they've enacted them here. And how gosh-darn proud they are of them. But when you scratch that surface, what do you find? More surface.
That thought was echoed by the Kiwi Couple we met last night, employees of Air New Zealand having dinner at a table in North Beach next to us. "People make fun of America because of California", the rather short but burly guy said, to my surprise because I had, frankly, thought it was because of Texas. "Why California?", I wondered aloud. "People here are so false", his sweet and considerably less-weathered companion answered. "So...I don't know..." "Disingenuous?" Yeah, that....
But I'm getting way out of chronological line here:Let's go back, way way back to Friday night after I got to Marin & posted my blog. Megan was already asleep & 'Nali was curled up on her bed, also asleep, I thought. I went out to the car - right outside the door - to grab a particular CD & went back in, without realizing 'Nali had followed me outside. I hadn't heard my favorite Waterboys song all day, so I put on my headphones & played it on my walkman. That song is exactly five minutes long. After it was over, I immediately realized 'Nali wasn't in the room, well, rooms..we had a suite kinda deal at the truly wonderful & always charming Inn of Marin. I went outside the room and heard the most godawful yelping coming from several doors down. I walk down & the noise is coming from an open door & I peek in & see a distraught asian family with my girl. She comes running outside as soon as she sees me, the woman seems panicked, the children seemed sleepy and confused but unalarmed, but the man was clearly pissed. After bitching me out about my rabid and frenzied wild animal of a cocker spaniel, it occurs to me to ask him how she got in their room. He said his wife heard her outside & opened the door & 'Nali forced her way inside. Uh, okay. I apologized yet again, assured them my dog would never be in their vicinity again & backed my way outta there. That guy was way too pissed. I worried about his wife; I figured he was gonna bind her feet or something after I left. I'd never heard 'Nali make noises like I heard before, though. God only knows what they were doing to my poor girl in there.
The next day we locked 'Nali in Dog Jail, though really this place was even more of a Dog Spa than the Stay 'N Play where I take her back home. Beautiful country out amongst little horse ranches and the ladies there clearly loved & understood dogs.
And went back & dressed to dance like hippies on fucking fire. Which we all did indeed do; some of us longer than others of us. Us: Megan & I, my dear friend Richard & his wonderful friends Carlos & Chris, princes all. We'd been having lots of rain, as I mentioned, but that afternoon & evening it cleared all up & Megan finally got her view of the bay coming over the Golden Gate from the north into the city. It even seemed to warm up some, but perhaps we were all just warm with love of the Grateful Dead & a nice red wine & a gorgeous evening in truly magical San Francisco. And because Megan & I are evidently Blessed of the Roadtrip Gods, we procured a perfect & singular parking place, a parking place seemingly meant for us alone. Not an inconsequential thing in a city like San Francisco, down by City Hall (a special historical thing for me - the scene of the White Night Riots back in the late 70's. I always love a good riot against a monstrous injustice, don't y'all? Google Dan White/George Moscone/Harvey Milk if you're interested in the story.)
From there, we walked several blocks across the city to Tommy's (? Forgive me, Richard, if I got the name wrong!), where the pre-concert Deadhead gathering was. It was a damn shame I wasn't hungry, because the place smelled like a carnivore's wet dream.
The concert was to be a Mardi Gras celebration, so all the partygoers were dressed accordingly. And all was shiny & happy & bright & dazzling & it was a beautiful night in San Francisco.
And then we went to dance like the proverbial hippies on fire that we were. The opening band was with one of the many and extremely talented Neville Brothers ( I think it was Ivan), whom I've always been quite fond of. And all was shiny.
And then Phil Lesh's band went on & the truth is that at this point my recollections are hazy and disjointed. And the thing about the Grateful Dead's music - and if truth be told, the reason I've never been a Deadhead - is that it is does tend to go on and on. And on and on and on. The venue we were at didn't allow going in and out willy-nilly (a perhaps ananchronistic structure at an event touting it's we're-so-free sensibilities) and smokers were therefore funneled and corraled outside in a pen much like the cows we saw at Point Reyes today. And by then, well, we were having some more rain & all was still shiny. But wet. Inside and out. I fell on my ass once, got grabbed in the crotch by some outrageously costumed asshole just passing by, fell again and evidently landed on my chin according to the the really nasty bruise there the next morning and what with all that and coming from the clean and quiet desert and my clean and quiet life, it all just was too much of too much and it kinda all went a little sour. The floats were awesome, though.
The world can indeed be bright & dazzling, but even San Francisco at a Deadhead show is not all shiny and happy.
Ah, Northern California....I really did take for granted growing up somewhere this beautiful. And it really is, and in so many ways. But seeing it again now, through my jaded and cynical eyes, well....let's just say I've been struggling with the dichotomy here.
I last lived here when I was eighteen years old, so I suppose it's not at all surprising that I have no memory of the ugly underbelly, the reality behind the shiny, happy surface. And it's easy to get fooled by that surface: the liberal politics that formed my philosophies and the oh-so-socially-correct way they've enacted them here. And how gosh-darn proud they are of them. But when you scratch that surface, what do you find? More surface.
That thought was echoed by the Kiwi Couple we met last night, employees of Air New Zealand having dinner at a table in North Beach next to us. "People make fun of America because of California", the rather short but burly guy said, to my surprise because I had, frankly, thought it was because of Texas. "Why California?", I wondered aloud. "People here are so false", his sweet and considerably less-weathered companion answered. "So...I don't know..." "Disingenuous?" Yeah, that....
But I'm getting way out of chronological line here:Let's go back, way way back to Friday night after I got to Marin & posted my blog. Megan was already asleep & 'Nali was curled up on her bed, also asleep, I thought. I went out to the car - right outside the door - to grab a particular CD & went back in, without realizing 'Nali had followed me outside. I hadn't heard my favorite Waterboys song all day, so I put on my headphones & played it on my walkman. That song is exactly five minutes long. After it was over, I immediately realized 'Nali wasn't in the room, well, rooms..we had a suite kinda deal at the truly wonderful & always charming Inn of Marin. I went outside the room and heard the most godawful yelping coming from several doors down. I walk down & the noise is coming from an open door & I peek in & see a distraught asian family with my girl. She comes running outside as soon as she sees me, the woman seems panicked, the children seemed sleepy and confused but unalarmed, but the man was clearly pissed. After bitching me out about my rabid and frenzied wild animal of a cocker spaniel, it occurs to me to ask him how she got in their room. He said his wife heard her outside & opened the door & 'Nali forced her way inside. Uh, okay. I apologized yet again, assured them my dog would never be in their vicinity again & backed my way outta there. That guy was way too pissed. I worried about his wife; I figured he was gonna bind her feet or something after I left. I'd never heard 'Nali make noises like I heard before, though. God only knows what they were doing to my poor girl in there.
The next day we locked 'Nali in Dog Jail, though really this place was even more of a Dog Spa than the Stay 'N Play where I take her back home. Beautiful country out amongst little horse ranches and the ladies there clearly loved & understood dogs.
And went back & dressed to dance like hippies on fucking fire. Which we all did indeed do; some of us longer than others of us. Us: Megan & I, my dear friend Richard & his wonderful friends Carlos & Chris, princes all. We'd been having lots of rain, as I mentioned, but that afternoon & evening it cleared all up & Megan finally got her view of the bay coming over the Golden Gate from the north into the city. It even seemed to warm up some, but perhaps we were all just warm with love of the Grateful Dead & a nice red wine & a gorgeous evening in truly magical San Francisco. And because Megan & I are evidently Blessed of the Roadtrip Gods, we procured a perfect & singular parking place, a parking place seemingly meant for us alone. Not an inconsequential thing in a city like San Francisco, down by City Hall (a special historical thing for me - the scene of the White Night Riots back in the late 70's. I always love a good riot against a monstrous injustice, don't y'all? Google Dan White/George Moscone/Harvey Milk if you're interested in the story.)
From there, we walked several blocks across the city to Tommy's (? Forgive me, Richard, if I got the name wrong!), where the pre-concert Deadhead gathering was. It was a damn shame I wasn't hungry, because the place smelled like a carnivore's wet dream.
The concert was to be a Mardi Gras celebration, so all the partygoers were dressed accordingly. And all was shiny & happy & bright & dazzling & it was a beautiful night in San Francisco.
And then we went to dance like the proverbial hippies on fire that we were. The opening band was with one of the many and extremely talented Neville Brothers ( I think it was Ivan), whom I've always been quite fond of. And all was shiny.
And then Phil Lesh's band went on & the truth is that at this point my recollections are hazy and disjointed. And the thing about the Grateful Dead's music - and if truth be told, the reason I've never been a Deadhead - is that it is does tend to go on and on. And on and on and on. The venue we were at didn't allow going in and out willy-nilly (a perhaps ananchronistic structure at an event touting it's we're-so-free sensibilities) and smokers were therefore funneled and corraled outside in a pen much like the cows we saw at Point Reyes today. And by then, well, we were having some more rain & all was still shiny. But wet. Inside and out. I fell on my ass once, got grabbed in the crotch by some outrageously costumed asshole just passing by, fell again and evidently landed on my chin according to the the really nasty bruise there the next morning and what with all that and coming from the clean and quiet desert and my clean and quiet life, it all just was too much of too much and it kinda all went a little sour. The floats were awesome, though.
The world can indeed be bright & dazzling, but even San Francisco at a Deadhead show is not all shiny and happy.
#13
January 25, 2008 - The Crunchy Capital Of The Free World
"Now I lay me down to sleep
I hear the sirens in the streets
All my dreams are made of chrome
I have no way to get back home
I'd rather die before I wake
Like Marilyn Monroe
You can throw my dreams out in the streets
And let the rain make 'em grow"
- Tom Waits
Y'know how they used to say that everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it? Well, it might be time to do something about it. C'mon, snow in LA?
But for us, we've been somehow magically missing the worst so far. Close, though....and maybe catching up. I learned last night in Monterey - AFTER crossing the mountains that most roads were closed. And today, no more than two hours after leaving Half Moon Bay on the coast, Highway 1 was closed there due to mudslides.
But wet, wet, wet here in Marin County. Went ahead to Novato today after a wet & hair-raising drive up Mount Tam to the Muir Woods (really...I had a total panic attack & had to close my eyes. Good thing Megan was driving.) and a VERY wet but spiritually refreshing walk in the big redwoods. So we're here at the wonderful Inn of Marin where I stayed when I was here in August en route to Alaska; Megan just about wet her pants when she got a look at the vegetarian stuff on the menu here at the restaurant. Gettin' some laundry done & resting up to go dance like hippies on fire, as my dear friend Richard said, tomorrow night in San Francisco.
Maybe we'll wear some flowers in our hair.Uploading more pics....
"Now I lay me down to sleep
I hear the sirens in the streets
All my dreams are made of chrome
I have no way to get back home
I'd rather die before I wake
Like Marilyn Monroe
You can throw my dreams out in the streets
And let the rain make 'em grow"
- Tom Waits
Y'know how they used to say that everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it? Well, it might be time to do something about it. C'mon, snow in LA?
But for us, we've been somehow magically missing the worst so far. Close, though....and maybe catching up. I learned last night in Monterey - AFTER crossing the mountains that most roads were closed. And today, no more than two hours after leaving Half Moon Bay on the coast, Highway 1 was closed there due to mudslides.
But wet, wet, wet here in Marin County. Went ahead to Novato today after a wet & hair-raising drive up Mount Tam to the Muir Woods (really...I had a total panic attack & had to close my eyes. Good thing Megan was driving.) and a VERY wet but spiritually refreshing walk in the big redwoods. So we're here at the wonderful Inn of Marin where I stayed when I was here in August en route to Alaska; Megan just about wet her pants when she got a look at the vegetarian stuff on the menu here at the restaurant. Gettin' some laundry done & resting up to go dance like hippies on fire, as my dear friend Richard said, tomorrow night in San Francisco.
Maybe we'll wear some flowers in our hair.Uploading more pics....
#12
January 25, 2008 – Catching Up
OK, so we woke up to three degrees in Gallup and got some hot coffee & hit the road for the Painted Desert & the Petrified Forest and, really, I had to re-think my position on the desert; it was that impressive. There was a 28 mile drive through the Petrified Forest & we liked it so much we turned around & did it backwards. Anyway, this was the scene of our first felony where, despite repeated and dire warnings continually escalating in tone, we each took a rock. Megan feels guilty but I, oddly because I generally feel a lot of guilt about just about everything (WWI, WWII, the crash of '29, the Depression, Vietnam, Watergate, etc....and y'know, I didn't do half those things. But I digress.), do not. It's a very nice rock. Actually, I think it's a piece of petrified wood, which gives me a great deal of smug satisfaction because it makes me that much more felonious. I mean, goddamn....they were all over the damn place.
After making the getaway with our precious rocks we continued on to Flagstaff, a surprisingly pretty town, all hilly & piney. Somewhere just before Flagstaff there were suddenly real trees. It was all snowy there and very cold, but clear. From there we headed north towards the Grand Canyon & had a beautiful drive up there watching the sunset & the almost-full moon rise. It was after dark when we got to the park & that's where the trouble began. Y'know how it is....you're not exactly sure you're going the right way & you're going down a hill & maybe you're going just a little too fast & the next thing you know is there's red lights behind you. Turns out the speed limit was only 35 & the very, very nice law enforcement officer said Megan was going 58. I personally do not believe she was going anywhere near that fast, but of course we were in no position to argue. So she got a ticket, but we avoided any serious unpleasantness such as cavity searches or unflattering photographs in harsh lighting or nasty inkstains on our fingertips. And most importantly, they didn't find our rocks. Or anything else.
After that ordeal, we managed to find our way to Grand Canyon Village, where we got a room at the Maswik Lodge. We smuggled 'Nali into our room (no pets at any of the lodges?!?) and I christened the nonsmoking room with a Kool. Because that's just the way I roll. After playing outside in the snow a bit & ascertaining that there seemed to be no other guests anywhere near our room, we locked 'Nali in the bathroom & went over to the main lodge building & had a coupla drinks at their little bar & then got some food. The next day we put 'Nali in Dog Jail for the day & took the shuttle bus over to Yaki Point. Still beautifully clear but very, very cold. Megan wanted to take the rim trail back, about 5 miles but it was just too damn cold for me & I went back to the lodge & took a nice little walk along the rim that took me behind all the other lodges. I stopped at the historic El Tovar Hotel where I had a very nice glass of wine from Oregon, of all places, a special one commemorating the El Tovar's 100th anniversary and a very pleasant conversation with the bartender; she was going to Denali National Park in Alaska to work in the spring. On my way back, I also stopped at the Bright Angel Lodge & had another glass of El Tovar. It was a much more appropriate afternoon for a woman of my age and tastes.
Megan was soon back from her walkabout and we changed, picked up 'Nali, left her in the room & hoped for the best & went back to the El Tovar, where we had dinner in their dining room with a view of canyon at sunset in front of a big stone fireplace. We had another bottle of the excellent El Tovar and I had an appetizer of mozzarella roulades with pesto and prosciutto and deliciously politically incorrect lamb chops. Megan had some vegetarian silliness and, I might add, did not enjoy her dinner nearly as much as I enjoyed mine. Y'know, I'm just sayin'...
After returning to our lodge, we had another glass of El Tovar - I liked it so much I asked the waiter where I could buy it & they sold me one - and then headed back over to the little bar at our lodge. We had planned to leave the next day, but after seeing a notice for the full-moon rim walk, we decided that was worth staying for & figured we'd stay another day. We ended up partying with a buncha locals & a couple followed us back to our room where they forced us to share the rest of my El Tovar and to open the bottle of absinthe I got in Mexico - I knew that would come in handy on this trip!
Oh, that absinthe - pirate juice, the little Grand Canyon boys called it....looks and smells like Nyquil and tastes even worse. And kicked my ass so bad I couldn't get up the next day. Megan, being much younger and more resilient than I, went and hung out with some of our new buddies and later went on the full-moon walk. It sounded fabulous and all, but it was just too cold. And, besides, I couldn't get out of bed anyway, on account of dancing with the green fairy. It was all I could do to get showered (I had to sit down because my knees were shaking so bad) and repack my luggage to try and get out of this den of iniquity.
Got loaded up the next morning only to discover a flat tire, but thanks to the excellent service of AAA and the employees of the Grand Canyon Village garage, we were soon on our way....very sadly for Megan, but that's her story.
We had originally planned on going to the Skywalk thing on the west rim & to go through Vegas & Death Valley, but after learning from my friend Richard the night before about a concert in San Francisco saturday night with Phil Lesh (from the Grateful Dead) & Friends - a quintessential SF hippie experience - our attorney advised us to drive at high speeds across the desert. (To those of you who are confused by that last sentence...as your attorney, I advise you to read the brilliant Hunter S. Thompson's 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas'.) We reckoned we could hit that stuff on the way back...to the coast we must go. So we got to Bakersfield last night, after I drove over the mountains between Barstow & Bakersfield in the dark AND the rain. I did OK, too. Slow, but OK. Slow is good.
And I felt pretty good about that and headed off bravely into the unknown mountains between me and San Luis Obispo, where we planned to join the spectacular Highway 1, up the California coast towards Monterey, our goal for the day. Where I proceeded to take perhaps the hairiest and most beautiful and satisfying drives ever. High mountains, ice, hairpin turns....but I did it. We crawled and crept up and down that mountain, following a big-ass truck I thought whose driver must have been insane to take this road. But I figured if he could do it, I could. And we all made it over the mountain & everything was lovely.
Ran into heavy rain as we neared the coast & part of the way up Hwy 1, but then miraculously cleared in time to give us rainbows that followed our car up the coast - for real! Megan has video! - and a ridiculously dramatic sunset.
Ended up here in Monterey a little after dark & went out for awhile, but being off-season & what with the weather, not much was open. Continuing up HWY 1 tomorrow and will probably spend tomorrow night somewhere along the coast north of San Francisco and then onto Novato on Saturday to meet up with my friend Richard. Then we'll spend awhile in SF before heading north to see my friend Dori. Alas, 'Nali will be going back into Dog Jail for a few days on saturday while we carelessly have fun in the city with nary a thought or care for her. She wants me to add that she asks y'all to write your congressman to prevent this enormous injustice.
I'm too tired & my connection is too bad to upload any pics tonight....perhaps tomorrow.
OK, so we woke up to three degrees in Gallup and got some hot coffee & hit the road for the Painted Desert & the Petrified Forest and, really, I had to re-think my position on the desert; it was that impressive. There was a 28 mile drive through the Petrified Forest & we liked it so much we turned around & did it backwards. Anyway, this was the scene of our first felony where, despite repeated and dire warnings continually escalating in tone, we each took a rock. Megan feels guilty but I, oddly because I generally feel a lot of guilt about just about everything (WWI, WWII, the crash of '29, the Depression, Vietnam, Watergate, etc....and y'know, I didn't do half those things. But I digress.), do not. It's a very nice rock. Actually, I think it's a piece of petrified wood, which gives me a great deal of smug satisfaction because it makes me that much more felonious. I mean, goddamn....they were all over the damn place.
After making the getaway with our precious rocks we continued on to Flagstaff, a surprisingly pretty town, all hilly & piney. Somewhere just before Flagstaff there were suddenly real trees. It was all snowy there and very cold, but clear. From there we headed north towards the Grand Canyon & had a beautiful drive up there watching the sunset & the almost-full moon rise. It was after dark when we got to the park & that's where the trouble began. Y'know how it is....you're not exactly sure you're going the right way & you're going down a hill & maybe you're going just a little too fast & the next thing you know is there's red lights behind you. Turns out the speed limit was only 35 & the very, very nice law enforcement officer said Megan was going 58. I personally do not believe she was going anywhere near that fast, but of course we were in no position to argue. So she got a ticket, but we avoided any serious unpleasantness such as cavity searches or unflattering photographs in harsh lighting or nasty inkstains on our fingertips. And most importantly, they didn't find our rocks. Or anything else.
After that ordeal, we managed to find our way to Grand Canyon Village, where we got a room at the Maswik Lodge. We smuggled 'Nali into our room (no pets at any of the lodges?!?) and I christened the nonsmoking room with a Kool. Because that's just the way I roll. After playing outside in the snow a bit & ascertaining that there seemed to be no other guests anywhere near our room, we locked 'Nali in the bathroom & went over to the main lodge building & had a coupla drinks at their little bar & then got some food. The next day we put 'Nali in Dog Jail for the day & took the shuttle bus over to Yaki Point. Still beautifully clear but very, very cold. Megan wanted to take the rim trail back, about 5 miles but it was just too damn cold for me & I went back to the lodge & took a nice little walk along the rim that took me behind all the other lodges. I stopped at the historic El Tovar Hotel where I had a very nice glass of wine from Oregon, of all places, a special one commemorating the El Tovar's 100th anniversary and a very pleasant conversation with the bartender; she was going to Denali National Park in Alaska to work in the spring. On my way back, I also stopped at the Bright Angel Lodge & had another glass of El Tovar. It was a much more appropriate afternoon for a woman of my age and tastes.
Megan was soon back from her walkabout and we changed, picked up 'Nali, left her in the room & hoped for the best & went back to the El Tovar, where we had dinner in their dining room with a view of canyon at sunset in front of a big stone fireplace. We had another bottle of the excellent El Tovar and I had an appetizer of mozzarella roulades with pesto and prosciutto and deliciously politically incorrect lamb chops. Megan had some vegetarian silliness and, I might add, did not enjoy her dinner nearly as much as I enjoyed mine. Y'know, I'm just sayin'...
After returning to our lodge, we had another glass of El Tovar - I liked it so much I asked the waiter where I could buy it & they sold me one - and then headed back over to the little bar at our lodge. We had planned to leave the next day, but after seeing a notice for the full-moon rim walk, we decided that was worth staying for & figured we'd stay another day. We ended up partying with a buncha locals & a couple followed us back to our room where they forced us to share the rest of my El Tovar and to open the bottle of absinthe I got in Mexico - I knew that would come in handy on this trip!
Oh, that absinthe - pirate juice, the little Grand Canyon boys called it....looks and smells like Nyquil and tastes even worse. And kicked my ass so bad I couldn't get up the next day. Megan, being much younger and more resilient than I, went and hung out with some of our new buddies and later went on the full-moon walk. It sounded fabulous and all, but it was just too cold. And, besides, I couldn't get out of bed anyway, on account of dancing with the green fairy. It was all I could do to get showered (I had to sit down because my knees were shaking so bad) and repack my luggage to try and get out of this den of iniquity.
Got loaded up the next morning only to discover a flat tire, but thanks to the excellent service of AAA and the employees of the Grand Canyon Village garage, we were soon on our way....very sadly for Megan, but that's her story.
We had originally planned on going to the Skywalk thing on the west rim & to go through Vegas & Death Valley, but after learning from my friend Richard the night before about a concert in San Francisco saturday night with Phil Lesh (from the Grateful Dead) & Friends - a quintessential SF hippie experience - our attorney advised us to drive at high speeds across the desert. (To those of you who are confused by that last sentence...as your attorney, I advise you to read the brilliant Hunter S. Thompson's 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas'.) We reckoned we could hit that stuff on the way back...to the coast we must go. So we got to Bakersfield last night, after I drove over the mountains between Barstow & Bakersfield in the dark AND the rain. I did OK, too. Slow, but OK. Slow is good.
And I felt pretty good about that and headed off bravely into the unknown mountains between me and San Luis Obispo, where we planned to join the spectacular Highway 1, up the California coast towards Monterey, our goal for the day. Where I proceeded to take perhaps the hairiest and most beautiful and satisfying drives ever. High mountains, ice, hairpin turns....but I did it. We crawled and crept up and down that mountain, following a big-ass truck I thought whose driver must have been insane to take this road. But I figured if he could do it, I could. And we all made it over the mountain & everything was lovely.
Ran into heavy rain as we neared the coast & part of the way up Hwy 1, but then miraculously cleared in time to give us rainbows that followed our car up the coast - for real! Megan has video! - and a ridiculously dramatic sunset.
Ended up here in Monterey a little after dark & went out for awhile, but being off-season & what with the weather, not much was open. Continuing up HWY 1 tomorrow and will probably spend tomorrow night somewhere along the coast north of San Francisco and then onto Novato on Saturday to meet up with my friend Richard. Then we'll spend awhile in SF before heading north to see my friend Dori. Alas, 'Nali will be going back into Dog Jail for a few days on saturday while we carelessly have fun in the city with nary a thought or care for her. She wants me to add that she asks y'all to write your congressman to prevent this enormous injustice.
I'm too tired & my connection is too bad to upload any pics tonight....perhaps tomorrow.
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