Hippieville

CRESCENT CITY/EUREKA/ARCATA, CA - I finally reached the ocean (yesterday). I arrived in Crescent City, the first coast city on 101 and headed to the ocean. Unfortunately, Crescent City was kind of run down and I didn't really want to be there long... so here's a picture, but pretend you didn't see it.



I then trailed the coast to Eureka. Tony had mentioned having a friend there that I could crash with but I couldn't reach him (no reception) until I was already in Eureka. He finally got in touch with her but she was hanging out in Arcata, a nearby town, which meant I was crashing in the car again. Things were beginning to get funky in there.

I decided I would check out Arcata because it sounded interesting and was soon to discover that Arcata is Hippieville. It was an interesting little place... it was so close, it may as well have been a neighborhood in Eureka. Lots of organic produce. And homeless people. Mostly homeless hippies. Now, ultimately I have no problem with hippies. We have a lot of similar ideas about how things should be. However, I do find myself having a problem with trust fund hippies. People who claim to live this lifestyle but never have to do any of the work that would actually go into it. Parents pay the bills while they claim to be revolutionary. Sorry... that's not that revolutionary. If your parents are going to pay the way, just be up front about it.

Then I found myself getting irritated with the countless hippies on the street asking me for change. I mean, what kind of dumbass goes without a job, travels around, bums off of others, and... oh. That's when I started to feel a little hypocritical. So, I worked on changing my attitude. However, I was feeling pretty lonely there and was wandering aimlessly. I was worried I wouldn't fulfill my "meeting a new person" for the day, so I went up and introduced myself to some guy waiting for his friend to buy something from a convenient mart.

"Hi, I'm not really from the area. Anything interesting to do? My name's Nick, by the way."

"Hey, man, get me a Dr. Pepper. No. Hey! Get me a Dr. Pepper."

I wasn't sure I was being listened to. Then...

"Hey, you smoke?"

"Huh?"

"You smoke? You smoke weed? You got five dollars? My friend and I are tryin' to get some weed. If you give us five dollars so we can get some, you can smoke some. My name's Dustin."

Then Dustin's toothless friend wandered out of the store and began muttering nonsense.

Dustin says, "Hey man, this guy's gonna smoke-"

"Uh, no thanks, man. I'm good."

Dustin looked heartbroken that I didn't want any part of his fun. I mean, it couldn't have been because I wasn't going to give him five dollars.

I awkwardly excused myself so I could go associate with someone who wasn't crazy, homeless, or high (preferably all three). I got at least partway down the street before Dustin started trailing behind, calling out to me. I glanced backward as others on the sidewalk began staring at me. By that time though, Dustin had already become infatuated with something shiny on the ground. This is my break!

I got a few more cement panels down the sidewalk when suddenly Dustin was right behind me, calling out to me again... I must have introduced myself as "Hey". Dustin's awfully spry for his current condition. I wish he had seemed half this crazy before I made the mistake of saying hi.

"Hey man, you wanna drink some vodka with us?"

His friend's empty, toothless grin stared deep into me.

"Nope. I'm good."

Luckily, his friend began gumming some more nonsense and I just walked away. And that was that.

I did run into the two of them several more times as I made the rounds of the town square. He just nodded and smiled knowingly, in on some desperately important information I was never made a part of.

There were plenty of other interesting folks out that night. There was the homeless guy who stayed in one seat on the square, yelling "Jake!" (as near as I could tell) intermittently, between asking people very courteously is they could spare some change.

I found an open door at this music store named "Metro" and a performance was going on. The place was quite full, so I stood near the back and enjoyed the free music. The performer, Jason Webley, was entertaining and doing this performance solo. The crowd was very into it. Apparently he was having a 21+ show down the street but had agreed to do this little teaser first. It was his CD release date. I had fun and decided to try to go to the show, if I decided to stay in town for another hours or so.

I made myself a sandwich, wandered around, and finally decided I couldn't just sit there for two hours. So, I got in my car and tried to find the hot tub place I had seen an ad for on the highway. Some place rented hot tubs by the hour and it seemed like a good idea. Plus, if I couldn't get a shower, maybe some hot water would help wash some of the scum off me that had accumulated in the past 36 hours.

It was a nice little place which was set up like a cabin. They sold coffee and juices along with pastries. I ordered a cold lemonade. It was very tart but good. I asked about the hot tubs and was informed they were all booked up. "You should be sure to make a reservation before 4pm." Too bad I didn't get to town until 6. I finished my lemonade and slowly made my return to Hippie Square.

I decided to just go to the place where the show was being held. Some restaurant named Jambalaya where they served... jambalaya. Apparently they had shows there almost every day of the week. I wouldn't have assumed so. The place was really nice looking, exactly what you would expect an expensive restaurant in a little town like this to look like.

"How much for a cup of jambalaya," I asked.

The server needed to look at a menu first (she must have been new) and replied, "Five dollars."

Disappointed, I said, "Nevermind," and did my best to ignore the delicious smells drifting from the cooking area, only about 20 feet away.

The band took a while to set up and I sat around. The opening acts ended up being the other members of the quartet, each of which also had their own CD available. The first act was the drummer, who was amazing. He did a couple bits with a homemade contraption consisting of several pots, a baking pan, a giant water bottle, and some PVC pipe all attached to an old chair back strapped to his chest. Oh yeah, and a two-liter filled with coins tied to his foot. Here's a video I shot. Unfortunately, my camera's lens covers have been sticking and I didn't realize this until it was already over (in my defense, it was dark and I was hurrying).



The girl on violin and bassist were quite good too. It was a great show alone just because there was no waiting in between sets. Just bam, bam, bam. At one point I checked out the bathroom. It's good to know they have just as healthy an obsession with Chuck Norris in the West as so many seem to in Illinois.



And, of course, a mirror picture (at least I held out this long into the trip).



Oh, why yes! That is the same exact clothing I was wearing yesterday! Thank you for noticing!

You think I'm going to have any more clothing smelling like garbage than I need to? (By the way, my pants smelled like garbage when I finally got to take them off today. I felt it was pertinent for you to know that.)

And here's the slick handstamp everyone got at the show. I like it.



I was still feeling kind of down at that point and Tom was nice enough to send me this video:



I finished watching the show, bought some CDs (the first I've bought in a while... I'm proud of myself for remembering how) and decided to head out. I drove a ways down the road and was finally tired enough that I stopped in a friendly looking gas station (by friendly, I mean that the parking lot was pretty big and it seemed as if some others might already be sleeping there). Apparently there's nothing free in the world anymore. Almost every place I drove past had signs up insisting on "NO OVERNIGHT PARKING." Is space so valuable I can't take up twenty square feet for a few hours?