A little more than a year ago things started to go badly wrong in my world. I mean, they had not been all that good for a while by then. I lived in a nice house with my significant other, my teenage son, her daughter, her brother, a chihuahua, and Benvolio an enormous dog of uncertain origions. We had a big yard, grape vines, oranges, an xbox360, three tvs and such. She was a more than full time high-school teacher, I a graduate student, and our relationship was on the skids.
Relationships, and hence relationship troubles, are always two way streets; so, I don't want anyone to think I am making excuses here, or assigning blame, and I will be more than frank about my part in the collapse of that relationship. It seems to me though, and I have had a lot of time to think about it, that when we met we were both altruistic, and interested in learning and loving and living. We read poetry to each other, collaborated on work for the University writing center, took the kids places like Yosemite, and the ocean, and the corn maze for Thanksgiving.
Then she got her teaching position, we moved into a house in Modesto, and all she had time for was work. She took on the cheerleading coach job in addition to a full teaching load. She didn't have time for her own daughter, much less my son, and even less for me. Sorry, but that was not exactly what I signed up for, and it made me kinda resentful. I tried to keep a good attitude, and told myself it woulod get better as she adjusted to her new position. I became more or less a full time grad-student and housekeeper. It also made me dependent, which is not something I'm comfortable with, and arguments about money started.
After a while I started drinking again, just a little bit of course, and with the increasing stress and dissatisfaction (to paraphrase G'n'R) the little got more and more. In turn, that had negative effects on the relationship—so things were not real cozy come fall of '09.
However, then disasters started to pile up. My parents had been living on their boat in the Caribbean for a decade and had started to fight more than not, and my Mom had been losing weight, reportedly drinking too much, and definitely acting sort of odd. My father and a number of concerned friends put together an intervention which my son took part in. I did not, at least not directly, because that would not have worked out well. My mother and I have a difficult relationship sometimes.
Long story short, the intervention flopped and ricocheted like I figured it would. Then my Dad announced he couldn't take it anymore, and was filing for divorce...Merry fucking Christmas. Over the next several months, the tension around our house got worse, my parents situation got worse, I was maxed out in Grad school, teaching and taking a full load, filing for graduation and so forth. In April my significant other informed me that she did not want to be in a relationship with anyone anymore and I'd have to move out (this seems to be true enough, for as best I can tell she has not started seeing anyone a year later, and I would have probably heard about it through the grapevine).
Oh goody. My feelings were hurt, but by then I was really just trying to hold it together for the sake of the kids, and that is a lousy reason to stay in a relationship. I had filed for graduation, so we came to an agreement that I would move out at the end of school year. This would allow me a stable place to live while I jammed out the last several major papers of my eight-year college odyssey. Or at least as stable as anything could be under the circumstances, between my birth families problems, the problems in our blended family, problems with her brother's crazy wife, problems with my son's reactions to everyone else's problems, her daughter's reaction to said problems, My teaching, her teaching, my school work and so forth I was an emotional wreck and half sloshed most of the time. Chronic insomnia, ulcers, regular nausea, near daily puking, and blinding headaches became the order of the day.
Then, around the end of April, beginning of May it became evident that there would be no work in California, and that it was too late to withdraw my application to graduate. Next in the first week of May my parents house burned down in the Jesusita Fire in the Santa Barbara Foothills. Yep, that house:
The one I grew up building, the one with the great view of the city and the channel, the one that contained what was left of my childhood.
Ok, so sometimes life is hard. Sometimes relationships don't work out—I of all people ought to know that—sometimes the economy is better than others, and everyone knows that they cut education first (though in the current global climate cutting education in the US is pretty much the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard of anyone doing). But really? Really God? Are you frigging serious? Ok, What now?
Now I'll plow through the end of the semester 'cause I owe it to my students. I'll take an incomplete in one class 'cause I just can't face writing that final paper, and I can graduate with one Inc. Oh yeah, I'll stay as drunk as possible when I am not actively involved in teaching to prevent myself from hurting something or jumping off a fucking bridge.
The last day of school I kind of hooked up with a young woman who was a friend previously, but it did not go far because of circumstances—at least not at that time. The next day I left town for Santa Barbara, planning to stay with friends and help my parents get the rebuilding of house going. My son elected to stay in Modesto for one more week to graduate with his class, then go to his Mom's house in Monterrey for the summer. Just before I left, we had a talk, and he said he understood why I couldn't stand to stay for another week. Well, he might have understood, but he hasn't spoken to me since, and while I miss him, and his ignoring me hurts, I suppose that is the point and I can't really blame him.
So, I spent eight years in school to get a Master's Degree just in time to become unemployed and homeless. Back to staying with friends, and my drinking had got to the point that if I did not have a couple shots for breakfast, I was going to be very shaky and sick. Which of course means that the couch tour runs out pretty fast, all my old friends are grownups now, with kids and careers and me being fucked up all the time did not fit into that picture very well. I was angry at fate, and bitter—drunk, and sick'n'tired of being sick'n'tired. I wrote the following poem sometime in that general time period, I think it was on my Birthday actually, June 7th, 2009, I turned 41. It expresses pretty well my general state of mind, except maybe it is a bit more chipper than I actually felt. I was bloody well depressed, but kept trying to fake some kind of rebellious nonchalance like I was sixteen again. Of course nobody except me bought it, and I only managed to with about thirty shots of vodka a day.
This Is How I Roll.
It is hot and I am tired
but still wired from what
was done to me audibly just now
when doors close, gates open
but I never expected the kind
that present themselves to me this time
I am longing,
longing to be free of this place so
I can go there physically man,
and
go through those gates with
my tongue.
I really don't mind
the chaos and loss so much
anymore, I just want to
kick down doors and break free
of what this lack of life has
done to me
I want to learn to rock
and roll again my friend.
I want
to kick ass and take names
without shame, and write late
into the night without trying
to worry about that alarm clock
I want to get my cock sucked
and drink in bars, with movie-stars
find a place to go that is not
too hot or too cold
Teach others how to reach
for the stars because this ordinary
life is being behind bars and I
I have tried for years to be like them
like you and I don't want to do it
anymore.
I want to fuck on the floor
in the kitchen after a pudding fight
burn bright and fry in the sun
run faster than the light
catch me if you can, I have
become the gingerbread man
I'm quick and cool going
back to the old school these days
so lead. Follow. Or, get the fuck
out of my way 'cause I'll run you down
on my way out of this town even
even though I'll miss the ducks, and
the sound of falling water in the morning
I don't give a fuck anymore...it is time
my friends, to say goodbye to the
family, the house and these guys
so I'm gone to get it on like old
King Kong, and this is how I roll...
Hell, I thought I got over adolescent angst in my early thirties after my second or third mid-life crisis. I guess not, but I kinda dig it as poetry anyhow. I left Modesto just before the end of May, stopping on the way out of town to kiss a girl, then I stopped for a few days in Porterville to visit a friend met on facebook, and hit Santa Barbara about June 5th. The first week or so was cool, getting caught up with old friends and such, but by the end of the month I was out on the street in S.B. Again. Pretty close to ten years after the last time I was losing my mind drunk and homeless on the South-Coast—in my hometown.
Pitiful huh? Sounds like it from here, but it was necessary to go through there to get here, and here is not so bad at all. None of the circumstances have magically corrected themselves, and there were many hard days and hard knocks, but there was also a lot of fun on the way. I made some good friends, met some cool girls, and eventually came back to Modesto. I'll tell the rest of that story over the next little while, interspersed with current happenings, and maybe eventually it will all begin to make sense...for now, vaya con Dios.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Journal Entry, Current Events, Stardate, 2.23.2010:
The upcoming walking trip up the coast of California, from Monterrey to San Francisco and then completely around the San Francisco bay, is looming larger and larger on our temporal horizon and in the hearts and minds of the walkers and our supporters. Over the past few weeks Susanne has begun camping with Nick and I on the weekends, and last week we brought in the fourth official walker.
Furthermore, we have begun to work on different ways of making money, trying to get away from direct panhandling and to find more creative and artistic ways of gathering the necessary funds to support ourselves on the road. To start, we have begun making hemp bracelets, and collecting shells, interesting stones, bits of metal, wood, and copper wire to include in jewelery making—actual making of these items has so far been done by Nick and Susanne while I have been working on mapping, building the website, and putting the word out. Also, I have been working out how to set up a portable sand casting kit so we can make pendants, bracelets and earrings from copper and silver on the road.
This coming weekend we will be having an art day where we will be doing small paintings suitable for traveling with and selling as we go. As art is the underlying purpose of the walk, it seems fitting that we support our mission through the diligent practice thereof as much as possible.
About other walkers, last Thursday Susanne spent the afternoon with an old friend of hers, Ellen Maxey, whom she had not seen in a while. In the course of the day she told Ellen about the upcoming trip, and Ellen was immediately enthusiastic about the prospect. Later in the evening, the tweo of them picked up the dogs from Susanne's house and met me and Nick at Starbucks. Leaving Susanne's car there, we walked the dogs off down the canal to a nearby park on the river. Walking those two dogs together is comical as Bella is a 90+lb Shepard/Airdale mix, two years old, with the energy of Pooh's Tigger, and Whinney is an old Dachshund with an insatiable curiosity and a withered left eye which causes her to veer constantly to the right. As we walked, we all got acquainted, and Ellen decided then and there that she was coming on walk, though she might not be able to stay the whole course because of her school commitments.
On Friday, Ellen and Susanne both joined us camping by the river, upon reaching camp, we discovered that the Maglite that was thought to be in my back pocket had gone missing, so I retraced my steps using nick's pocket lantern to try to find it in the grass along the trail, in the dark. No luck, so, on the way back to camp I went to one of our old camps and retrieved a couple of milk crates we had left behind to provide extra seating around the fire for our guests. Then I approached the camp from the direction opposite the trail, practicing my woods-craft and moving without light I made it to the border of the firelight without being detected. Susanne and Ellen walked back out to the road to meet their friend Denise T. later in the evening and brought her back to camp. She was thinking that she also might want to go on the walk with us.
We built a fire, set the extra seats around it, and I cooked an excellent dinner of carne asada steak with tortillas, salsa, chilies, avocado, beans, and such prepared over the campfire. We told stories, read poetry, and (after Denise fell asleep early) took late night walks in shifts so as not to leave her alone at camp. We finally got to sleep around four in the morning, men in one tent, women in the other. In the morning we had coffee and eggs scrambled with ham, cheese, garlic and onions, bathed in the river, and then went back out into the world. Everyone had a good time, but Denise T. decided that she would not be walking after all as the outdoor life is not for her in large doses.
Denise T. decided not to go, but a friend of mine (who was once a student of mine), Denise C. is planning on joining us for her Spring Break, as are some other college friends, James C. and his girlfriend Mae perhaps, and a few other people have expressed interest in joining us for portions of the trip, including my father. I hope they can all make it at different times. This is going to be an excellent traveling roadshow through some of the most beautiful country in North America, and you are all invited along for the ride. In order to keep up with the trip's planning, preparation and execution continue to follow this blog. Also check out Nick's blog at http://ziconix.blogspot.com/2010/02/things-just-things.html , the Central California Bays Art Walk 2010's facebook group page at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=308968254773 and the Walk website at http://sites.google.com/site/centralcabaysartwalk2010w/
The website will be the most comprehensive source of Walk materiel, containing art, photography, and writing by walkers, as well as bios, purpose, needed materiel, details of route, announcements regarding achievements, scheduled art days, and any other events of note, as well as links to individual walker's blogs and facebook links. Blogs and the Website also have donation buttons allowing interested parties to contribute their two cents (or more) to the cause. We can use all the help we can get, but we are determined, and if necessary will embark with nothing, trusting to God and human kindness to see us through. This is a pilgrimage, a spiritual journey for all of us, and we will not be stopped. Peace out to y'all...
The upcoming walking trip up the coast of California, from Monterrey to San Francisco and then completely around the San Francisco bay, is looming larger and larger on our temporal horizon and in the hearts and minds of the walkers and our supporters. Over the past few weeks Susanne has begun camping with Nick and I on the weekends, and last week we brought in the fourth official walker.
Furthermore, we have begun to work on different ways of making money, trying to get away from direct panhandling and to find more creative and artistic ways of gathering the necessary funds to support ourselves on the road. To start, we have begun making hemp bracelets, and collecting shells, interesting stones, bits of metal, wood, and copper wire to include in jewelery making—actual making of these items has so far been done by Nick and Susanne while I have been working on mapping, building the website, and putting the word out. Also, I have been working out how to set up a portable sand casting kit so we can make pendants, bracelets and earrings from copper and silver on the road.
This coming weekend we will be having an art day where we will be doing small paintings suitable for traveling with and selling as we go. As art is the underlying purpose of the walk, it seems fitting that we support our mission through the diligent practice thereof as much as possible.
About other walkers, last Thursday Susanne spent the afternoon with an old friend of hers, Ellen Maxey, whom she had not seen in a while. In the course of the day she told Ellen about the upcoming trip, and Ellen was immediately enthusiastic about the prospect. Later in the evening, the tweo of them picked up the dogs from Susanne's house and met me and Nick at Starbucks. Leaving Susanne's car there, we walked the dogs off down the canal to a nearby park on the river. Walking those two dogs together is comical as Bella is a 90+lb Shepard/Airdale mix, two years old, with the energy of Pooh's Tigger, and Whinney is an old Dachshund with an insatiable curiosity and a withered left eye which causes her to veer constantly to the right. As we walked, we all got acquainted, and Ellen decided then and there that she was coming on walk, though she might not be able to stay the whole course because of her school commitments.
On Friday, Ellen and Susanne both joined us camping by the river, upon reaching camp, we discovered that the Maglite that was thought to be in my back pocket had gone missing, so I retraced my steps using nick's pocket lantern to try to find it in the grass along the trail, in the dark. No luck, so, on the way back to camp I went to one of our old camps and retrieved a couple of milk crates we had left behind to provide extra seating around the fire for our guests. Then I approached the camp from the direction opposite the trail, practicing my woods-craft and moving without light I made it to the border of the firelight without being detected. Susanne and Ellen walked back out to the road to meet their friend Denise T. later in the evening and brought her back to camp. She was thinking that she also might want to go on the walk with us.
We built a fire, set the extra seats around it, and I cooked an excellent dinner of carne asada steak with tortillas, salsa, chilies, avocado, beans, and such prepared over the campfire. We told stories, read poetry, and (after Denise fell asleep early) took late night walks in shifts so as not to leave her alone at camp. We finally got to sleep around four in the morning, men in one tent, women in the other. In the morning we had coffee and eggs scrambled with ham, cheese, garlic and onions, bathed in the river, and then went back out into the world. Everyone had a good time, but Denise T. decided that she would not be walking after all as the outdoor life is not for her in large doses.
Denise T. decided not to go, but a friend of mine (who was once a student of mine), Denise C. is planning on joining us for her Spring Break, as are some other college friends, James C. and his girlfriend Mae perhaps, and a few other people have expressed interest in joining us for portions of the trip, including my father. I hope they can all make it at different times. This is going to be an excellent traveling roadshow through some of the most beautiful country in North America, and you are all invited along for the ride. In order to keep up with the trip's planning, preparation and execution continue to follow this blog. Also check out Nick's blog at http://ziconix.blogspot.com/2010/02/things-just-things.html , the Central California Bays Art Walk 2010's facebook group page at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=308968254773 and the Walk website at http://sites.google.com/site/centralcabaysartwalk2010w/
The website will be the most comprehensive source of Walk materiel, containing art, photography, and writing by walkers, as well as bios, purpose, needed materiel, details of route, announcements regarding achievements, scheduled art days, and any other events of note, as well as links to individual walker's blogs and facebook links. Blogs and the Website also have donation buttons allowing interested parties to contribute their two cents (or more) to the cause. We can use all the help we can get, but we are determined, and if necessary will embark with nothing, trusting to God and human kindness to see us through. This is a pilgrimage, a spiritual journey for all of us, and we will not be stopped. Peace out to y'all...
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Central California Bays Art Walk 2010
Google Site for walk. We will be walking approximately 350 Miles from Monterrey north to San Francisco along coast, and then across the Golden Gate Bridge and completely Circling San Fransisco Bay to finish back in central San Francisco. We will be beginning to walk the weekend Spring Break starts, and plan to complete the course in four weeks. During this time all participants will write, do visual art, and take photographs each day. We hope to also engage communities on the way in public art projects with local churches and/or schools/recreation depts.
The art and writing created on this journey will be posted to group page and emailed directly to people who choose to donate to the cause. Further information will be posted as it becomes available. We hope to get a book out of this adventure and to inspire others to get outside and live.
We are currently soliciting donations to help with the purchase of food, art supplies, and backpacking supplies. As plans develop, a paypal link will be established to increase ease of such assistance. For now, anyone wishing more information, or wishing to donate, please post questions to Group Wall. All responses will be answered if they are serious inquiries. Facebook group page
The art and writing created on this journey will be posted to group page and emailed directly to people who choose to donate to the cause. Further information will be posted as it becomes available. We hope to get a book out of this adventure and to inspire others to get outside and live.
We are currently soliciting donations to help with the purchase of food, art supplies, and backpacking supplies. As plans develop, a paypal link will be established to increase ease of such assistance. For now, anyone wishing more information, or wishing to donate, please post questions to Group Wall. All responses will be answered if they are serious inquiries. Facebook group page
Screwed up txt color somehow.
If you select area below headlines, it shows...consider it an exercise in secret writing.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Bus Boutique and a Jig
Vagabond Dreams: Stardate: 1.31.2010:
Sunday morning Nick and I get up and head over to Susanne's to meet her for church. Normally we would be going to New Hope in the Airport District of Modesto. New hope used to be situated in a more affluent section to the north, But has recently purchased an old and abandoned church down near the airport in a neighborhood that needs some good influences and is busy renovating the church building and holding services in the dining hall. It is a good congregation and I seem to fit well there; Susanne once said that when she first started attending, she asked someone (jokingly) if she needed to get a tattoo to become a member. I have not attended church in years, and have only recently began identifying myself as a Christian again. I have flirted with many paths, and think that many may well lead to the same place, but God has been giving me some not so subtle hints over the past year and I have decided to fall in line. Last week, after services, both Nick and I talked to different people and both conversations went in similar directions. When I walked out to the picnic table he said, “I am quitting drinking today.”
“Well shit,” I replied, “So am I.” He did not take another drink. I kept sipping until I finished the Sprite bottle full of vodka I had in my back pocket at about ten-thirty that night, but I did not refill it. Rather I poured the rest of the Half Gallon bottle in my backpack down the toilet at Susanne's house. He was sick for a day. I was sick for about three and shaky for two more, but I did not have a seizure and I think that prayer is why. After a week, I feel great, and I have no cravings to drink. That is indeed a miracle.
Anyways, as I said, normally on a Sunday we would be heading to New Hope, but today we are heading to Merced to participate in the Gateway Christian Fellowship's service day. Susanne knows one of the women who organized missions and outreach for Gateway, name of Monica, whom she met through social activism some time back.
Susanne and I went to Gateway once before and began painting a bus with them. This time Nick is accompanying us, last time, he was still in San Diego visiting his sister.Susanne is in charge of the project as the “artist,” but her philosophy of communal art dictates that a collaborative art project is such that if even one person who participates was either not involved or was replaced it would be an entirely different piece. So, Susanne is in charge, I am her gopher and a semi-competent painter though I have done many more houses than works of art, and the youth group members help with every facet of the project from design, to outline, painting, cleanup, etc. This communalism is carried to the point that the entire group participated in voting on which pieces of clothing from the bus would be strung on a clothesline as a model to paint from. This makes the project fun, but time consuming.
To clarify what we are doing here, Gateway is starting a new outreach program known as The Bus Boutique, They bought an old bus from a local Rock Station (The Hawk, 104.1) that had used it as a concert/party bus of all things, and have converted it into a clothes locker. The Buis will take in donations, and distribute them to those in need. The Boutique part of the name comes in with their innovative idea for getting people to be proactive. The distribution of clothing is contingent upon trade. For instance, for my participation in painting the bus and working as Susanne's gopher, I am entitled to select any clothing I might need from the buss's store. When the Bus becomes active, people will contribute time, work, or some sort of output on their part in exchange for the clothing that they receive. This helps the church be able to provide more services for their outlay, and enables people receiving aid to feel that they have earned it, which helps build self-esteem in a demographic badly in need of some. So, the bus is painted white, Now we are in the process of painting clotheslines, complete with clothes of various sorts hanging to dry, on each side of the bus, and also, painting logos to identify what it is.
Later that day:
We attended a brief service at Gateway, then the entire congregation split up into color coded groups and were assigned various tasks. The Bus painters were the Pink group. Other groups did trash pickup in various parts of town, landscaping for a sick widow, and so forth. We had mostly completed the driver's side of the bus on our previous foray, and today we mostly finished the passenger's side. It is looking good, but we will have to come back at least one more time. After working on bus we headed back to Modesto and went out to eat at a Vietnamese place for great, spicy food. Then we went for a walk in Greseda Park in downtown Modesto to burn off that stuffed feeling. So we walked for a bit, then played on the Jungle Gym like little kids, climbing and swinging and playing tag. Laying on our backs on the sidewalk and looking up through winter bare branches at the starry heavens reminded me of being a teenager running the streets of Santa Barbara at night. Then I was drinking and getting into trouble with my best friends, now I am sober and happy with even better friends, and I am content. We hear music playing from nearby and go to look for it. We find The Queen Bean Coffeehouse is having an open mic night across the street from the park. We stand in the parking lot and listen for a while, to music and poetry under the stars and a nearly full moon. A fat young man begins playing an Irish Jig with lyrics about an alien spaceman who stops to take a pee on the dark side of the moon and then visits earth, Susanne starts dancing to the tune and grabs my hand. We skip and twirl and collapse against the wall laughing helplessly...in time we walk back to the car and go home, she drops us off at the bridge and I miss her already. That girl just makes me laugh, and we are always doing some kind of cool, creative, crazy shit. Thank God for days like this one, and for friends like Susanne and Nick.
Sunday morning Nick and I get up and head over to Susanne's to meet her for church. Normally we would be going to New Hope in the Airport District of Modesto. New hope used to be situated in a more affluent section to the north, But has recently purchased an old and abandoned church down near the airport in a neighborhood that needs some good influences and is busy renovating the church building and holding services in the dining hall. It is a good congregation and I seem to fit well there; Susanne once said that when she first started attending, she asked someone (jokingly) if she needed to get a tattoo to become a member. I have not attended church in years, and have only recently began identifying myself as a Christian again. I have flirted with many paths, and think that many may well lead to the same place, but God has been giving me some not so subtle hints over the past year and I have decided to fall in line. Last week, after services, both Nick and I talked to different people and both conversations went in similar directions. When I walked out to the picnic table he said, “I am quitting drinking today.”
“Well shit,” I replied, “So am I.” He did not take another drink. I kept sipping until I finished the Sprite bottle full of vodka I had in my back pocket at about ten-thirty that night, but I did not refill it. Rather I poured the rest of the Half Gallon bottle in my backpack down the toilet at Susanne's house. He was sick for a day. I was sick for about three and shaky for two more, but I did not have a seizure and I think that prayer is why. After a week, I feel great, and I have no cravings to drink. That is indeed a miracle.
Anyways, as I said, normally on a Sunday we would be heading to New Hope, but today we are heading to Merced to participate in the Gateway Christian Fellowship's service day. Susanne knows one of the women who organized missions and outreach for Gateway, name of Monica, whom she met through social activism some time back.
Susanne and I went to Gateway once before and began painting a bus with them. This time Nick is accompanying us, last time, he was still in San Diego visiting his sister.Susanne is in charge of the project as the “artist,” but her philosophy of communal art dictates that a collaborative art project is such that if even one person who participates was either not involved or was replaced it would be an entirely different piece. So, Susanne is in charge, I am her gopher and a semi-competent painter though I have done many more houses than works of art, and the youth group members help with every facet of the project from design, to outline, painting, cleanup, etc. This communalism is carried to the point that the entire group participated in voting on which pieces of clothing from the bus would be strung on a clothesline as a model to paint from. This makes the project fun, but time consuming.
To clarify what we are doing here, Gateway is starting a new outreach program known as The Bus Boutique, They bought an old bus from a local Rock Station (The Hawk, 104.1) that had used it as a concert/party bus of all things, and have converted it into a clothes locker. The Buis will take in donations, and distribute them to those in need. The Boutique part of the name comes in with their innovative idea for getting people to be proactive. The distribution of clothing is contingent upon trade. For instance, for my participation in painting the bus and working as Susanne's gopher, I am entitled to select any clothing I might need from the buss's store. When the Bus becomes active, people will contribute time, work, or some sort of output on their part in exchange for the clothing that they receive. This helps the church be able to provide more services for their outlay, and enables people receiving aid to feel that they have earned it, which helps build self-esteem in a demographic badly in need of some. So, the bus is painted white, Now we are in the process of painting clotheslines, complete with clothes of various sorts hanging to dry, on each side of the bus, and also, painting logos to identify what it is.
Later that day:
We attended a brief service at Gateway, then the entire congregation split up into color coded groups and were assigned various tasks. The Bus painters were the Pink group. Other groups did trash pickup in various parts of town, landscaping for a sick widow, and so forth. We had mostly completed the driver's side of the bus on our previous foray, and today we mostly finished the passenger's side. It is looking good, but we will have to come back at least one more time. After working on bus we headed back to Modesto and went out to eat at a Vietnamese place for great, spicy food. Then we went for a walk in Greseda Park in downtown Modesto to burn off that stuffed feeling. So we walked for a bit, then played on the Jungle Gym like little kids, climbing and swinging and playing tag. Laying on our backs on the sidewalk and looking up through winter bare branches at the starry heavens reminded me of being a teenager running the streets of Santa Barbara at night. Then I was drinking and getting into trouble with my best friends, now I am sober and happy with even better friends, and I am content. We hear music playing from nearby and go to look for it. We find The Queen Bean Coffeehouse is having an open mic night across the street from the park. We stand in the parking lot and listen for a while, to music and poetry under the stars and a nearly full moon. A fat young man begins playing an Irish Jig with lyrics about an alien spaceman who stops to take a pee on the dark side of the moon and then visits earth, Susanne starts dancing to the tune and grabs my hand. We skip and twirl and collapse against the wall laughing helplessly...in time we walk back to the car and go home, she drops us off at the bridge and I miss her already. That girl just makes me laugh, and we are always doing some kind of cool, creative, crazy shit. Thank God for days like this one, and for friends like Susanne and Nick.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Another sunny day.
Journal Entry: Stardate: Saturday, 1-30-2010:
Today was a good day also. Susanne woke me up at about 8:00am and we hung by the river in the misty morning under the Mitchell street bridge, watching father sun come up and burn off the fog. After a bit Nick joined us, and we sat talking, planning, and looking at water, earth, sky, and the grafitti (some of it quite good) that decorates the Bridge supports. We watched the fish jump, the birds fly, some squirrls climbing, feral cats stalking our food supplies, and even a Muskrat (or maybe a beaver, but I think they are extinct around here), motor around leaving a wake behind himself in the river like some kind of furry speedboat.
Once the day was well and truly started, around 9:30, Susanne took of to get in a run while Nick and I went to work. We walked down Mitchell, passing through McDonald's and the Wal-Mart parking lots, then crossing and hitting Starbuck's and the Food-For-Less before continuing on down the street casually panhandling those we came across. “Ma'am, Could you spare forty-two cents towards some breakfast?” one of us would ask.
“Forty-two Cents? Why forty-two cents?”
“Well, we actually need more, but we don't like to ask for too much, and forty-two is the answer to life, the universe, and everything—you know, from The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy.”
She laughs, “Well, let me see what I can do,” she says, digging in her purse. We know from long experience that once they stop to talk it is nearly certain that they are going to give us considerably more than forty two cents. We have had this conversation, or one much like it hundreds of times in the past six months, and on this particular occasion she gave us four ones. And excellent omen for the day.
“God bless you ma'am, have a nice day now, y'here,” I stick the money in my pocket, and we walk on down the road.
That is the way we work, casual, friendly, humorous.
By the time we got to the corner of Mitchell and Whitmore, we had enough for lunch at Taco Bell, the sun was shining and it was reasonably warm but not so hot as to be uncomfortable even carrying forty pound packs and wearing sweatshirts. The clouds and the vault of the sky are beautiful here in the central valley, we whistled and sang snatches of songs as we walked, and we kept making money. We walked to the Ceres library from Taco Bell and got some new books, then along the frontage road by the CA99 north to Hatch again, by which time we had made over thirty dollars for the day. Back on Hatch, we hit the Dollar Store for some necessities: steak knives, rope, self charging LED flashlights, 50ft. Cheap rope, canned chili and soup, and so forth. Then we went to Starbucks to have some coffee and read for a bit before heading back towards Mitchell.
On the way we stopped by Susanne's house and gathered her up. She drove to the Starbucks at Mitchell (Our Starbucks) and we got coffee and began discussing routes for the art walk we are planning to begin around spring break. The plan as it is currently envisioned is that we will begin walking in San Francisco, and head north.
We went to coffee that night to hammer out a route and use Google Earth to inspect the details along the proposed path. Didn't get far with mapping though because we had sat at a wobbly table. After getting frustrated enough to try to do something about it, I ducked under the table, which spilled coffee on the keyboard of Susanne's mom's laptop that we had borrowed since both my AC adapter and Susanne's had recently taken a permanent vacation from providing electrical services. Amidst a flurry of cussing, we poured coffee out of keyboard, held computer upside down, dried it off, and tried to get back to work only to find that we had somehow managed to turn on hotkeys in the process. Every time you hit Lkey, whatever you are working on drops to taskbar, and there are a dozen other keys that do weird shit also. Worse yet, we couldn't figure out how to turn them off as that laptop was configured differently than Susanne's HP or my Compaq.
So we gave it up, and continued the discussion without maps. After looking over the terrain before the coffee incident, we decided that going north out of Frisco might be problematic in that there is no good way to make a loop out of our course without getting too far off the coast, and too far away from habitation for longer than we want to. In the end we discussed what supplies we would need, ways of earning money on the way (hopefully without panhandling), such as selling some of the paintings and drawings we do along the way in towns and National/State parks, making hemp jewelery with found items like shells and stones (there is quite a bit of jade on the beaches along there), and so on.
Susanne determined that she would need a tent, sleeping bag, and pack as soon as possible, so that she could start camping out with us on weekends in order to get used to sleeping outside, and humping a pack around during the day. We discussed things such as Tents, sleeping pads and bags, pans, knives, hatchet, machete, and a camp stove of some sort. Clothing will be minimal and light, bio-degradable soap for washing dishes, bodies, and clothing. Food will have to be mostly beans and rice supplemented with jerky and dried vegetables which we will purchase and dry ourselves to save money. We will bring salt, pepper and spices, and further vary our diet by fishing and picking wild greens and mushrooms.
The conversation turned to how to get the word out about what we are doing, how to contact local churches and such to set up art days, how we might change route to maximize our possibilities without lessening the beauty or campability of the path we travel and so on.
We are beginning to realize just what a large chore we have set for ourselves, and just how little time we have to prepare. I have to get a new AC adapter, fast, and so does Susanne. This trip cannot be organized in time without extensive work on the Net, and it is going to be hella difficult anyway. That is ok though, this is really a trial run. We will learn from this trip, and use what we learn to plan better for a bigger/better one to follow.
Anyways, in the end, Susanne dropped us off at about midnight and headed home. I slept well and woke.
Today was a good day also. Susanne woke me up at about 8:00am and we hung by the river in the misty morning under the Mitchell street bridge, watching father sun come up and burn off the fog. After a bit Nick joined us, and we sat talking, planning, and looking at water, earth, sky, and the grafitti (some of it quite good) that decorates the Bridge supports. We watched the fish jump, the birds fly, some squirrls climbing, feral cats stalking our food supplies, and even a Muskrat (or maybe a beaver, but I think they are extinct around here), motor around leaving a wake behind himself in the river like some kind of furry speedboat.
Once the day was well and truly started, around 9:30, Susanne took of to get in a run while Nick and I went to work. We walked down Mitchell, passing through McDonald's and the Wal-Mart parking lots, then crossing and hitting Starbuck's and the Food-For-Less before continuing on down the street casually panhandling those we came across. “Ma'am, Could you spare forty-two cents towards some breakfast?” one of us would ask.
“Forty-two Cents? Why forty-two cents?”
“Well, we actually need more, but we don't like to ask for too much, and forty-two is the answer to life, the universe, and everything—you know, from The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy.”
She laughs, “Well, let me see what I can do,” she says, digging in her purse. We know from long experience that once they stop to talk it is nearly certain that they are going to give us considerably more than forty two cents. We have had this conversation, or one much like it hundreds of times in the past six months, and on this particular occasion she gave us four ones. And excellent omen for the day.
“God bless you ma'am, have a nice day now, y'here,” I stick the money in my pocket, and we walk on down the road.
That is the way we work, casual, friendly, humorous.
By the time we got to the corner of Mitchell and Whitmore, we had enough for lunch at Taco Bell, the sun was shining and it was reasonably warm but not so hot as to be uncomfortable even carrying forty pound packs and wearing sweatshirts. The clouds and the vault of the sky are beautiful here in the central valley, we whistled and sang snatches of songs as we walked, and we kept making money. We walked to the Ceres library from Taco Bell and got some new books, then along the frontage road by the CA99 north to Hatch again, by which time we had made over thirty dollars for the day. Back on Hatch, we hit the Dollar Store for some necessities: steak knives, rope, self charging LED flashlights, 50ft. Cheap rope, canned chili and soup, and so forth. Then we went to Starbucks to have some coffee and read for a bit before heading back towards Mitchell.
On the way we stopped by Susanne's house and gathered her up. She drove to the Starbucks at Mitchell (Our Starbucks) and we got coffee and began discussing routes for the art walk we are planning to begin around spring break. The plan as it is currently envisioned is that we will begin walking in San Francisco, and head north.
We went to coffee that night to hammer out a route and use Google Earth to inspect the details along the proposed path. Didn't get far with mapping though because we had sat at a wobbly table. After getting frustrated enough to try to do something about it, I ducked under the table, which spilled coffee on the keyboard of Susanne's mom's laptop that we had borrowed since both my AC adapter and Susanne's had recently taken a permanent vacation from providing electrical services. Amidst a flurry of cussing, we poured coffee out of keyboard, held computer upside down, dried it off, and tried to get back to work only to find that we had somehow managed to turn on hotkeys in the process. Every time you hit Lkey, whatever you are working on drops to taskbar, and there are a dozen other keys that do weird shit also. Worse yet, we couldn't figure out how to turn them off as that laptop was configured differently than Susanne's HP or my Compaq.
So we gave it up, and continued the discussion without maps. After looking over the terrain before the coffee incident, we decided that going north out of Frisco might be problematic in that there is no good way to make a loop out of our course without getting too far off the coast, and too far away from habitation for longer than we want to. In the end we discussed what supplies we would need, ways of earning money on the way (hopefully without panhandling), such as selling some of the paintings and drawings we do along the way in towns and National/State parks, making hemp jewelery with found items like shells and stones (there is quite a bit of jade on the beaches along there), and so on.
Susanne determined that she would need a tent, sleeping bag, and pack as soon as possible, so that she could start camping out with us on weekends in order to get used to sleeping outside, and humping a pack around during the day. We discussed things such as Tents, sleeping pads and bags, pans, knives, hatchet, machete, and a camp stove of some sort. Clothing will be minimal and light, bio-degradable soap for washing dishes, bodies, and clothing. Food will have to be mostly beans and rice supplemented with jerky and dried vegetables which we will purchase and dry ourselves to save money. We will bring salt, pepper and spices, and further vary our diet by fishing and picking wild greens and mushrooms.
The conversation turned to how to get the word out about what we are doing, how to contact local churches and such to set up art days, how we might change route to maximize our possibilities without lessening the beauty or campability of the path we travel and so on.
We are beginning to realize just what a large chore we have set for ourselves, and just how little time we have to prepare. I have to get a new AC adapter, fast, and so does Susanne. This trip cannot be organized in time without extensive work on the Net, and it is going to be hella difficult anyway. That is ok though, this is really a trial run. We will learn from this trip, and use what we learn to plan better for a bigger/better one to follow.
Anyways, in the end, Susanne dropped us off at about midnight and headed home. I slept well and woke.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Rules of Panhandling Ethically.
There is an artistry to panhandling, a rhetoric if you will. Rhetoric is after all the art of using available means of communication to persuade a subject to do what you want them to do, or believe what you want them to believe. I am a rhetorician by inclination and training; furthermore, I practice a sort of post-modern/Sophist rhetoric which (to grossly oversimplify things) sees the language itself, indeed all forms of communication, as simply a tool such as a hammer. Tools are morally neutral, it is only the intent or consequence of the use that has a moral component. Therefore, it is incumbent upon a decent person to have rules about how and when they use tools. For instance, using a hammer to build a house by nailing together timbers it is a “good” and proper usage of the tool, while using that same hammer to crack someone's skull like a walnut is an “evil” or improper usage.
Language is a much more dangerous tool than a hammer, or even a thermo-nuclear missile, yet is often used without regard for the consequences. In most peoples lives this is unlikely to cause problems, but when you are dependent upon the charity of strangers to eat each day it becomes rather important. Our lives have become an ethnographic experiment in chronicling and examining human kindness in post-modern America, and surprisingly enough, I am finding my faith in my fellow Americans growing rather than shrinking.
So, we work by certain rules. First, always be polite and unassuming, wish them a nice day, or god bless, or some other equally courteous and friendly goodbye even if they say no. Try to remain polite and friendly even if they are rude or ignore you. That last is easier said than done, particularly when drunk—yet another good reason to stay sober this time—but you would be surprised at how often someone who has said “NO” or just ignored your existence comes driving up a few minutes later (sometimes as much as an hour later) and gives you either money or food.
Part of the courtesy is tone and body language: not just what you say, but how you say it, the way you stand, and, even more important, maintaining a safe distance—especially when approaching women alone—say ten feet, or approach from the side of their car opposite where they are standing so as not to alarm them or have them feel threatened.
The second rule is, always ask for a specific amount, for a specific purpose. At least in my experience, this results in a higher number of positive responses, and I never ask for more than a dollar. I have found that people will generally give you what they want to give, regardless of what you ask for, and I have received everything from six cents up to twenty dollars by asking for forty-two cents. I have tried other numbers, but for me forty-two seems to work best. Each beggar eventually finds their own style, but forty-two works for quite a few people. I came up with it, but it had been adopted but several others before I left Santa Barbara. I think because there is a story associated with the number, and some humor, but I do not know for sure. I just know that if someone stops and engages with you you need to have a story, be friendly, open, honest, and humble and they will give you something.
The third rule is don't get greedy. Take what you need, share what you have, and when you have enough for the day—Stop! Sometimes we come up with enough for two or three days in a few hours, then we take a couple days off to read, write, talk, hike, work on campsite, etc.
The fourth rule is keep moving. Don't burn out a spot, if businesses ask you to leave, do so immediately. You can always come back later, and you don't want to deal with the police. Often we just walk and ask people we come across. That is what we were doing on the last day of January.
Language is a much more dangerous tool than a hammer, or even a thermo-nuclear missile, yet is often used without regard for the consequences. In most peoples lives this is unlikely to cause problems, but when you are dependent upon the charity of strangers to eat each day it becomes rather important. Our lives have become an ethnographic experiment in chronicling and examining human kindness in post-modern America, and surprisingly enough, I am finding my faith in my fellow Americans growing rather than shrinking.
So, we work by certain rules. First, always be polite and unassuming, wish them a nice day, or god bless, or some other equally courteous and friendly goodbye even if they say no. Try to remain polite and friendly even if they are rude or ignore you. That last is easier said than done, particularly when drunk—yet another good reason to stay sober this time—but you would be surprised at how often someone who has said “NO” or just ignored your existence comes driving up a few minutes later (sometimes as much as an hour later) and gives you either money or food.
Part of the courtesy is tone and body language: not just what you say, but how you say it, the way you stand, and, even more important, maintaining a safe distance—especially when approaching women alone—say ten feet, or approach from the side of their car opposite where they are standing so as not to alarm them or have them feel threatened.
The second rule is, always ask for a specific amount, for a specific purpose. At least in my experience, this results in a higher number of positive responses, and I never ask for more than a dollar. I have found that people will generally give you what they want to give, regardless of what you ask for, and I have received everything from six cents up to twenty dollars by asking for forty-two cents. I have tried other numbers, but for me forty-two seems to work best. Each beggar eventually finds their own style, but forty-two works for quite a few people. I came up with it, but it had been adopted but several others before I left Santa Barbara. I think because there is a story associated with the number, and some humor, but I do not know for sure. I just know that if someone stops and engages with you you need to have a story, be friendly, open, honest, and humble and they will give you something.
The third rule is don't get greedy. Take what you need, share what you have, and when you have enough for the day—Stop! Sometimes we come up with enough for two or three days in a few hours, then we take a couple days off to read, write, talk, hike, work on campsite, etc.
The fourth rule is keep moving. Don't burn out a spot, if businesses ask you to leave, do so immediately. You can always come back later, and you don't want to deal with the police. Often we just walk and ask people we come across. That is what we were doing on the last day of January.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Journal entry, Stardate 1.29.2010:
It's about quarter after noon and it's already been a good day.
My road dog nick and I have been sitting here in the parking lot at Jack 'n The Box, on the corner of Mitchel and Hatch (on the border between Modesto and Ceres, CA) for about forty minutes. He's been reading, I was drawing until a few minutes ago, and we have already made about $12.75 by taking turns asking departing Jack's customers if they can spare forty-two cents towards lunch. Also, the sun is shining down out of a baby blue sky spotted with fluffy white clouds like a psychedelic dalmatian for the third day in a row after more than a month of gray skies and rain.
Yes, we are asking people for money. We have become professional panhandlers from necessity. Neither one of us likes it much, hell, I did not go to college for eight years and get a MA in English so I could beg for a living, but living in a tent down by the river has its compensations.
How I got here from there is a rather long story, and I will tell it to you, but for now let's just say that it included relationships, fires, the economy at this particular time in American history, and various other factors. Now that we got rid of the evil bastards Bush and Cheney, maybe O'bama will start improving things (though I'm not holding my breath), but for now I am stuck outside.
Yesterday was great, Susanne (a friend from college who has been a big support, and is a wonderful person and an inspiration as an artist) came to our camp early in the morning and woke us up to invite us over to take showers. Hot showers are a beautiful thing when you spend most of your time out in the cold and wet), so we went to her house, got showered up and made breakfast of eggs, oatmeal and leftovers.
Then she dropped us off to take care of our business while she took care of hers. Panhandling sucked yesterday, but we made enough for cigarettes and new lighters, we have food, and since we quit drinking a week ago, life has gotten cheaper. We spent the afternoon walking in the sun, reading, and hanging out. Then, about three-thirty we met Susanne at her house and took a road-trip to Fresno to keep her company and get out of town for an evening. There was an information session for an MA in education/credentialing program that Susanne had heard about and I would qualify for as well. I went to session with Susanne and Nick went across street to mall. He found himself disgusted by all the fashion victims, so, after checking email at Apple store, he came back and read in lobby until we were done. The program sounds great, with up to fifty-thousand in grants on a thirty-six-thousand dollar, one year intensive MA program. Susanne is going to apply, I won't be able to get everything together by the deadline, and I don't really want to teach high-school anyway, but I was tempted.
After the session, we went to this huge Chinese/Japanese Buffet that had an enormous selection of great food. We pigged out on seafood, veggies, bbq pork, broccoli beef, sushi rolls, soup salad, stuffed mushrooms, sauteed mushrooms, fruit, spring rolls, rice, chow mien, ice cream, pudding, cake and more, all washed down with Jasmine tea and water. Yes, Water. Nick and I quit drinking last Sunday after church, and Susanne rarely drinks at all.
After dinner, we drove back to Modesto and she dropped us off near our camp on her way home. We walked down to the river and got set up. No one had messed with our stuff, which is always a worry (this is my fourth tent in seven months), we read for awhile, then crashed and slept like logs, or road dogs.
It's about quarter after noon and it's already been a good day.
My road dog nick and I have been sitting here in the parking lot at Jack 'n The Box, on the corner of Mitchel and Hatch (on the border between Modesto and Ceres, CA) for about forty minutes. He's been reading, I was drawing until a few minutes ago, and we have already made about $12.75 by taking turns asking departing Jack's customers if they can spare forty-two cents towards lunch. Also, the sun is shining down out of a baby blue sky spotted with fluffy white clouds like a psychedelic dalmatian for the third day in a row after more than a month of gray skies and rain.
Yes, we are asking people for money. We have become professional panhandlers from necessity. Neither one of us likes it much, hell, I did not go to college for eight years and get a MA in English so I could beg for a living, but living in a tent down by the river has its compensations.
How I got here from there is a rather long story, and I will tell it to you, but for now let's just say that it included relationships, fires, the economy at this particular time in American history, and various other factors. Now that we got rid of the evil bastards Bush and Cheney, maybe O'bama will start improving things (though I'm not holding my breath), but for now I am stuck outside.
Yesterday was great, Susanne (a friend from college who has been a big support, and is a wonderful person and an inspiration as an artist) came to our camp early in the morning and woke us up to invite us over to take showers. Hot showers are a beautiful thing when you spend most of your time out in the cold and wet), so we went to her house, got showered up and made breakfast of eggs, oatmeal and leftovers.
Then she dropped us off to take care of our business while she took care of hers. Panhandling sucked yesterday, but we made enough for cigarettes and new lighters, we have food, and since we quit drinking a week ago, life has gotten cheaper. We spent the afternoon walking in the sun, reading, and hanging out. Then, about three-thirty we met Susanne at her house and took a road-trip to Fresno to keep her company and get out of town for an evening. There was an information session for an MA in education/credentialing program that Susanne had heard about and I would qualify for as well. I went to session with Susanne and Nick went across street to mall. He found himself disgusted by all the fashion victims, so, after checking email at Apple store, he came back and read in lobby until we were done. The program sounds great, with up to fifty-thousand in grants on a thirty-six-thousand dollar, one year intensive MA program. Susanne is going to apply, I won't be able to get everything together by the deadline, and I don't really want to teach high-school anyway, but I was tempted.
After the session, we went to this huge Chinese/Japanese Buffet that had an enormous selection of great food. We pigged out on seafood, veggies, bbq pork, broccoli beef, sushi rolls, soup salad, stuffed mushrooms, sauteed mushrooms, fruit, spring rolls, rice, chow mien, ice cream, pudding, cake and more, all washed down with Jasmine tea and water. Yes, Water. Nick and I quit drinking last Sunday after church, and Susanne rarely drinks at all.
After dinner, we drove back to Modesto and she dropped us off near our camp on her way home. We walked down to the river and got set up. No one had messed with our stuff, which is always a worry (this is my fourth tent in seven months), we read for awhile, then crashed and slept like logs, or road dogs.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Introduction, or Welcome to My Nightmare
Well, not really, many people would think that what has happened in my world is just that, a nightmare, and indeed, I thought so at first, but it has not turned out that way at all. I will be posting often, and I am going to start by transcribing journal entries written by hand over the last month or so. Then I will go forward and back through time as the mood strikes me.
Like all memoir and autobiography, this account will be somewhat fictionalized: Both because memory is not Memorex, and because I will intentionally change certain details to protect both the innocent and the guilty. It is impossible to live outdoors in this society without breaking a number of minor laws on a regular basis, and sometimes crazy things happen and the consequences of such things are potentially severe. But, overall, this will be an accurate account of my experiences, and will be true in spirit even when the details have been altered by my memory or intent. I will begin transcription sometime today, and will try to post something at least once a day to keep the narrative flowing, but, for the moment my friends Vaya con Dios!
Like all memoir and autobiography, this account will be somewhat fictionalized: Both because memory is not Memorex, and because I will intentionally change certain details to protect both the innocent and the guilty. It is impossible to live outdoors in this society without breaking a number of minor laws on a regular basis, and sometimes crazy things happen and the consequences of such things are potentially severe. But, overall, this will be an accurate account of my experiences, and will be true in spirit even when the details have been altered by my memory or intent. I will begin transcription sometime today, and will try to post something at least once a day to keep the narrative flowing, but, for the moment my friends Vaya con Dios!
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