Saturday, December 24, 2005

Hope you brought a toothebrush baby, this could take all night
Current mood: pensive


Getting called a faggot.. over-pumped, tan, shirtless, surfer meatmen with suspect tattoos...the threat of the christain right conspiring in a decision to either violently eject me back to Hollywood or hang me from an orange tree as warning to others of our kind who might otherwise consider venturing past their curtain - these were images that historically pervaded when I was faced with going to Orange County.

Biggy and Brandan begged to differ. In response to my attitude of "I love ya but fuck ya," they would insist " It can be like that, but you have to hang out with us dude. It's different." On the fourth of July, 2005 I acquiesced and found that with the perfect people, even that potentially threatening community can show a "dark baby" (as I believe Biggy has named my sun shy kind) quite the good time. It can indeed be different.

What follows is some of the different I've been involved in during my fruitful trips to the Orange (Fruitful? Orang? Wish I didn't write that don't ya?)

A mission. They actually call it "The Mission." This is, I believe, a longtime tradition passed down from HXC kid to HXC kid.

For a good time a group of boys swim through the ocean, run across sharp rocks, and scale urchin laden walls all the while avoiding heli-cops and terrified families who could swear they saw about a thousand tattoos run across their private beach. Even though you can't hear the aghast "While I never!" and "Honey, hide the kids," it's definitely written all over their faces. Fantastic!

All of the water filled lungs and gouged extremities finally converge to begin the delicate and precise scaling of a 60 foot crag that juts over the ocean. This is not an easy climb. To be honest, it's life threatening, and what's even worse, it's covered in gul excrement.

Right before you reach the top, about, oh, ten feet away, there is a landing. It's about the size of a grade school desk. Below is a 50 foot drop to craggy, salty, wet death. Less experienced mission goers might find themselves saying waveringly "You guys are fucking crazy. I can't believe no one has died doing this yet." Right before reaching the top you might then learn that one time Lisk, upon grabbing the last hold to the 60ft safety mark, found his hold to give and fell backward to land atop the desktop. Lisk bounced but did not roll. It's good that he didn't roll.

All of this business finally culminates with launching yourself from the rock into the ocean. I think they told me that, from the ice plant, it's 62 or 63 ft down. I'm not sure. I am sure that when you jump of a cliff of this nature that you discover the ocean to be a very insensitive lover. No candle light, no soft music, just straight on in. Even with the oceanrape, it's a good time.

That's The Missio. I think if you can find Sims and ask him nicely he can show you a video.

There's unfortunately no footage of one of my other favorite OC experiences, but I do have pictures. The other night at my place Nick 13 pointed out "When you and you're friend find yourselves singing an entire Circle Jerks song to the cat that sometimes lives at your house, it's time to go to bed." The then Big Jeff, Dan Under and Trevor house did not have a cat to sing to. There was however tattoo equipment a' plenty. Between the hours of three and six am, presented with ink, two ready and willing sxe boyfriends, and blatant lack of a cat to sing to, clearly the only thing such a group can do is tattoo each other. Onto our soft spots went each others own initials. Poor Dan was the only one who was a tattooist. Poor Dub's future girlfriends have to see two boys' initials, in hearts, tattooed...there?Come to think of it, Big Jeff may have footage. Lucky Jeff.

Recently I went down for a more formal party. Here's another something different: I was freezing in southern Ca. It was really cold, but not cold enough to account for the hill of snow that people were sledding down, yet not warm enough to warrant the presence of the Chillie the Elephant who was stomping blonde girls around the party grounds. Death Cab For Cutie played as Dan and Nills sandwiched me on a Ferris Wheel. Nils confessed his distaste for Ferris Wheels, rollercoasters and rides in general. I informed him that if it had been illimidate Dan would have just totally won.(Nils baby, you know I still love you.) Cotton Candy and Popcorn were served alongside a horrifying, yet unfortunatley popular In N Out Burger stand. Although I've never seen an episode of the OC, Nick informed me that we were pretty much living an episode. It was quite surreal.

I mean, simply hanging out in a parking lot down there can sometimes lead to making out in the bushes with a good friend and a perfect stranger or watching that same friend prove that, even with a pink cast he can pitch a shake onto belligerent, drunk, party girl from about ten feet away. It was amazing and she totally deserved it. You should have been there.

I'm in Ukiah.

At this point I suppose you may be asking "Why? Oh Why did you make us read all the pointless OC garbage if you're not even there?" Well, I actually haven't been there for quite some time, and to be honest, isn't all of this pointless? Self indulgent? Implicitly arrogant?.Maybe. Everything's pointless in the end. Yet I digress....

See, the thing is Nick brought up something that I thought about upon descending into this little Hamlet that through it's nothingness, gave birth to the afi, Tiger Army and many a wonderful person. Nick has often theorized that Orange Count is quite like our hometown except that the children behind the curtain had access to far better recreational activities than we did.

There are parallels. I think the isolation of both areas brought about similar personalities. Here you might see someone shoot a bottle rocket from their penis off a rooftop. There someone might instead simply light themselves afire and jump from a hotel room into a pool. The small town allowed for midnight ice blocking at the golf course - which I, btw, never did. (Cold nights, wet grass and soggy Ben Davis clinging to my butt just didn't appeal to me.) There the boys would just sneak into the water parks. Basically, what I'm saying is that if the OC and Ukiah crews combined forces we'd make a nice little book club. Actually, I don't know what I'm saying. Ask Nick, hell explain.

So, here I am back in the motherland, writing because I've been a bit neglectful of feeding the pet blog. I fear its stomach must have shrunken and I am grossly over-feeding it.

Though I've spent many a turkacide away I manage to make it back here every year for the Great Santa Day. It's always strange for me to come back here. These holidays can be quite emotional. You know it's true. No matter what you believe in or don't believe, the cold air pushes it into you this time of year. The air here is very pervasive. I drive past the airport where I shook like a newborn through my first kiss. I can't avoid it. It's on the way into town. I find myself content with my family, overstuffing myself with vegan molasses cookies that Mom made and finding comfort in those who demand nothing of me and ask very little. I find myself hiding tears from my mother when the overwhelming memories of my Grandfather sitting in his rocking chair, laughing over the love of his grandchildren, come rushing in unwanted as she, unknowingly, arranges the poinsettias on the kitchen table. I find myself hiding tears from myself when the mundane memory of sitting on a curb, post-skate, and eating Dino Pebbles from the box with Chalker while starving for something more -something glamorous, something, gritty - retrospectively screams of an innocence and excitement that was unique to that moment. Those moments.

I couldn't imagine having remained here. Coming back is not an option. To say that I don't belong is an understatement yet, when Michael told me the folks might move in a few years, I must admit it did touch me a little. The thought of not inviting this December valley air to fill me once a year is a bit sad.

There's great love here. There's great loneliness. I guess it's not so different from the rest of the world.

The cats are eyeing me. It must be time for a song.

Enjoy the air.....

DXH


Currently listening :
Future Perfect
By Autolux
Release date: By 26 October, 2004

12:03 AM