Well I'm sitting here listening to the new Dylan (yes I got it on vinyl) and sipping on a Flying Dog pale ale. As I enjoy both my mind wrestles with a possibility. Usually there are many swirling around in there, just one this time. Santa Barbara. Why not? Why? New scenery, new co workers. But if I were to transfer I would rather go to the desert. St George in Utah, or Palm Desert in CA. St Geo is pretty in and of itself. Palm Desert is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Idylwild in the San Bernadino mts. Go up into the mountains and drop down into a canyon just to sit besides strawberry creek and listen to the brook babble. Also, it is close to Death Valley so I can get things prepared for when The Cheese gets out.
But yeah, Santa Barbara no, maybe SLO just up the highway. Hang out at Pismo Beach. Speaking of which...Many many moons ago Dave Vick and I happened to stumble into Pismo. Just toring the state in my '75 Cutlass, living on oranges and black hash. So we're walking along the sand at the bottom of the cliffs of a cove. Some guy walks by and says "tides coming in". Cool, we'll hop on that big rock and watch the surf roll in. Let me describe this rock. It was twice the size om my current living room and about 20 feet high. A massive piece of stone with two massively stoned pieces on it. After about an hour it was the size of my living room and only about ten feet high. Now add to that the crabs that started coming out and crawling around and the rock is getting fairly congested. I guess as long as the lighter stayed dry we were pretty happy. (I am currently (current, thats funny) laughing myself to tears) The next thing we know the rock is now a small boulder the size of my bathroom and only five feet above the swirling, pounding surf. Talk about stir crazy.
We had two options, jump and swim, or climb a vertical sandstone wall. Jumping in would only lead to getting pounded against our very shelter, so it was climbing time. Dave was six feet tall so we figured he had the best chance. The wall was very smooth with next to nothing but crumbling sandstone to cling to. No go. so we sat and smoked a little more. If all else fails... Damn those crabs. They were every where. I was tired and cold so I thought I would flap my arms. The next thing I know I'm on the top of the ledge looking at Dave down below. "How'd you do it?" he asked. "I have know idea". I still don't. Maybe I had suction cup hands. Who knows? After a while Dave makes it up. Back to the Cutlass, on to Laguna Beach.
Several years later I'm hitching up the 101 and I catch a ride. Now in the eighties most of the people picking up hitchers were yuppies. "I remember back when..." Now they had MBA's and BMW's, expense accounts, and a need for weed. So this guy ask me if I want to stop for lunch. Of course man. So we stop at a restaurant in Pismo that sits up on a cliff.. Sitting at a window table looking out over ocean I look down to see the very same rock mentioned above. Nothing left to do but smile smile smile. But wait, theres more. Before leaving I went into the restroom to clean up a bit. Not having seen myself for a few days I was quite surprised to see my reflection. Every hair on my head was pointed in a different direction. Had I walked up to this place on my own they wouldn't have let me in the door let alone us the bathroom.
Man I miss those days. I guess I am an old fart already.
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