Everything up till now - Yesterday

Do you remember the scene, or multiple scenes, from the movie "Goonies", during which Chunk (wasn't that the fat kid's name?) was asked by the evil criminals to tell them "everything"? Chunk rattles off all of his life story. God, what a classic joke. Still makes me laugh. At some point he confesses about being in a movie theater, and making puking sounds. And this causes everyone else to puke.

I puked this morning. Been a long time. I wasn't even that hungover. I think it was the half of a camel light that I smoked last night. God does my body hate cigarettes these days. But man if my mind doesn't love them. That's a vice, I guess. That's the way I grew up, that's the way I prioritized, for way too long. Putting mind before body, trying to live fast, die young, or at least sacrifice personal health, when necessary, for experience. What the hell?

I turned 30 last October. The revelations just won't stop. Here's one - retirement could actually be fun. So could everything from now until then, no matter what that everything turns out to be.

Here's another - being out of shape and inactive, at any age, is bad for the soul.

Here's another - naps are nice.

And another - naps are nicer when taken after doing something that makes you want to rest. Something, say, other than napping.

Way back when I was in college, I started a journal about smoking. I wrote in it whenever I was feeling a particularily high level or low level of appreciation for that number one vice, nicotine. I turned out some good thoughts. Probably a good 10 entries about how important it was for me to quit. How much I valued my health. Well, let's just say that consistency in that area was not my strong point, and still probably isn't. I stopped writing in that journal after the repetition of themes got tedious. Quit for health, smoke for introverted poetic creativity, quit for health, smoke for pain, quit for love, smoke for evol, quit for health, smoke to fill the void of time between thoughts.

So now, unintentionally, I am writing about smoking again. Well, fuck that. Let's get back to the puking.

It's like a gag reaction I get, some mornings, after smoking. A bad gag, then some phlegm, then I move on. Today was different. Today I puked.

The worst part is, I had just brushed my teeth. So I blew chunks, then I had to brush my teeth again. Hell.

Well, in the end, the puking sucked, and the cigarette was very unsatisfying and completely pointless. Broke my latest 2.5 week smoke free streak. This year was going to be the year, damn it.

The puking sucked, but if other events of last evening played a part, well I complain less. Cause I had a great night. I'd like to think it was a bit representative of summer nights here in the redwoods of the Mendocino Coast.

I love my Job.

A long day of work making campers happy - unclogging a clogged septic pipe - I can now add that skill to my resume. Also, checking the water system. Then, oooh, another clog, this time in a pipe between a sink drain and a grease trap. Speaking of puking, ever seen the inside of a grease trap? Damn, I really wish I had a picture to show you. Instead, here's a cute one of my dog.

Yeah. See, at work, I have to sometimes deal with grease traps. But I get to have my dog with me. And when the grease trap is done, I say, "Abbey, Up Up", and she, as damn awesome as a dog can be, jumps into the back of the work truck and rides with me wherever I am bound. Lucky dog.

I digress. A long day of work, clogged drains, clogged drains, water systems, and then a friend rents one of the Camps for his wedding reception and, last night, I have to decide between two different Memorial Day Weekend bbq kind of things, or a nap. I choose, as you may have guessed from the puking story above, to attend one event, then the other, then the first one again. And then work this morning. Damn, another thing I learned when I turned 30 - I can't quite handle this anymore.

These are the People in My Neighborhood

My goal, once I decided against the nap, was to get to the farm, maybe stopping along the way to visit the folks in camp who were celebrating matrimony. The trip to the farm is nice, because there are options. Farmer Cas is a really good friend and neighbor of mine. Actually, barring the folks I work and live with, he is my closest neighbor. Which means he is 3 miles away as the crow flies, or a half hour drive, all on dirt roads. But like I said, there are options. Take the wide, dusty, well travelled dirt road out of camp to the pavement, then turn right, and follow the narrow, well travelled, not too well maintained, county dirt road to the farm gate. Or, take the narrow, moderately maintained camp road 3 miles to the back of camp, deep in the dark redwoods, where it is always at least 5 degrees colder than at my house, where there are ghosts and maybe werewolves, then cross the sketchy looking bridge, turn around, and head up the not really maintained, but hardly ever driven, back road to the top. Get to the gate at the top, get out, open the gate, get back in, drive through the gate, get out, close the gate behind you, turn a hard right, drive 100 feet, get out, open the farm gate, get back in, drive through the gate, get out again, close the farm gate behind you, drive another couple miles of not really all that well maintained, kind of rutted, dirt road to the main part of the farm. Watch for pigs and guinea hens.

I chose the latter. I sometimes go the other way in order to avoid the tedium of the extra gate. Or really, maybe I go that way cause I don't want to get out of my car to deal with the gate, cause I am afraid. Of the ghosts, of werewolves, of Sasquatch. Yeah, I believe in Sasquatch. I don't believe Jack Black's interpretation of Sasquatch, or any of that bullshit from "Drawing Flies" about communing with the Bigfoot. I believe that Bigfoot is out there, and probably, he is pissed. You know, habitat loss and all. I'm pissed about it. Imagine how Bigfoot feels. So I don't want to run into Bigfoot in the middle of the night. Not literally run into, though that would suck too, cause I imagine it might be like hitting a moose, where the low bumper on my car hits bigfoot in the ankles or knees, then his massive torso goes through my windshield and I go squish.

Suitcase Sliding

Well, I made it to the farm. I did stop to say hi to the matrimonial celebrators on my way. I borrowed some of their food and a Barney Flats Oatmeal Stout, damn good thick stout from Anderson Valley Brewing Company. Yum. At the farm, I had another beer. Then I stepped onto the deck, and said hi to some good folks, including Jubal, who seemed a bit dustier than he usually is. Also, I noticed the farm four wheeler was parked near the deck, trailing a line of webbing from behind. Someone was trying to talk Dano into doing something that at first glance seemed kind of stupid. But, well, I was soon to recall how stupid sometimes also means fun.

Jubal put on a motocross helmet and a pair of work gloves and sat down on a folded pad directly on the middle of an open suitcase. He placed his ass on the ridge and his feet in two corners of the suitcase. Cas backed the ATV up so Jubal could reach the strap of webbing, and Luke jumped on the back of the ATV to be the "spotter". For posterity's sake, I guess.

The ATV started slowly moving forward, the slack in the webbing dissappeared, Jubal grabbed a PBR that someone handed him, leaned back and held on to the strap. The suitcase, with Jubal in it, slid across the grass, gradually gaining speed. The ATV and then the suitcase reached the dirt road, and they picked up speed and dissappeared into one of the back fields. About 5 seconds later, the ATV shows up, coming down a slight rise, with Jubal still astride the open suitcase, sliding along the dirt, probably at about 15 mph. By this point, he had lost his beer. It was beautiful. Four wheelers, spilled PBR, Jubal waving one hand like he's in a rodeo, hanging onto the strap with another. Cas turns and heads onto the lawn again, unwittingly driving over a hole that the farm dogs had dug. The front of the suitcase hits the doghole, and Jubal does a graceful shoulder plant onto the lawn. Ouch.

Needless to say, I had to give it a try. I did. I couldn't quite master the turns. I also tried riding half of a water drum, which proved a bit unsteady. So, suitcases make really good sleds when pulled behind an ATV. Gloves and a helmet are a must. Jubal managed to plant on the same shoulder again later. Hope the pain was worth the glory, buddy. In the end I took only one ride. The suitcases ended up as targets, later, when another friend surprised us with the 9 mm that he had brought to the party. Hell, I had never shot a pistol before. It was surprisingly easy.

No, that's not how I ended up hungover. Probably had nothing to do with puking this morning, other than helping me to work up a further thirst. But damn, I had to share. Riding a suitcase, while being towed behind an ATV, on a farm in the middle of the redwoods? Hell yeah. Never thought I would get the opportunity to do such a thing. Yeah. That's right. And afterwards we shot at stuff, drank beer, and ate bbq. Don't stereotype it.

So, slackers. Come visit Mendocino. You cannot ride suitcases in the city. Or wait, maybe you can.

The suitcase dirt track, off to the right. That yellow van used to be a chicken coop.