A Tale of Two Californias

It has been a marvelous week of VAY Freakin CATION. And without realizing it I had planned a tour de force of the sweet state of CALI Freakin FORNIA. Last Friday, after sprinting the hell out of school, I promptly hopped on a plane to LA.

LOW BROW

Yep, LA. It's the spot. I stayed with my friend Andrew, with whom I had once had a torrid international affair. It's always funny when people as us how we met- "One night stand in Vietnam." End of story. Except it really wasn't the end of the story because now we are bros.

Andrew lives in some town called Manhattan Beach. It's really hard for me to describe Manhattan beach because for the most part, I was either throwing up in the sand, getting an in-home massage by a small Asian woman, looking at the bottom of my martini glass, or vaguely watching college football. Bros.

Let's see, my summative assessment of LA- it's sunny as hell, classic low brow, vibrating with sexual energy, and is not too concerned with aesthetics. I liked it. Sort of. I'd have to not be so drunk and see a little bit more than the inside of my friends den of bro-ism to really give it a fair shake.

I did make it to Venice for a few hours. Loved it. So entertaining. A vibrant array of human tragedy and triumph: exactly how it looked on Baywatch and that basketball scene in American History X. So even though I didn't see any celebrities in the fleshy flesh, at least I knew they had once been there. Good enough for me.

HIGH TIDE

SO THEN, after a day back home in Oakland eating Chinese food in bed all day, I took off again for Humboldt County, a good 7 hour drive north up the coast.

The drive was thrilling including a few adrenaline pumped seconds when I accidentally turned off my headlights into the black abyss of the Redwood forests at 70 mph. Pitch. I'm pretty sure I died and am living an alternate thread of existence right now, which would explain why I can't find my hot pink sock.

My friend Stefanie and I arrived late into the night but just early enough to see a giant jar of the ganja innocently chillen on the table. You could really have done a circle dance around the thing. Naturally, all the housemates of Stefanie's friend Hoon, who so graciously hosted us, were getting ready to go to dancehall night in town square. What town am I in? At this point, I'm not sure. 24 hours later- I find out- It's Arcata. Sweet. We pile in a cab, which is driven by a teenage pirate, who told us we smelled like flour tortillas.

Arcata is on fire, and we go to some club banging out all the latest Ja Man, ganja tune bust-a-move-age, and I go buck on the dancefloor like it's prom night 2000.

Surveying the room, you would really think you were in Canada, which I really thought, and still kind of do think, is what's going on. Lots of white dreadlocks, semi-attractive people with an air of passive-aggression, and miles and miles of beard. I somehow got involved in a crazy couple's break up, got humped by the town gay, and drank red stripe. Yep, we were def the last to leave the bar. Lights on and everything.

Good ol thanksgiving. I am in physical pain, and there's a whole lot of lying around. I end up at the best T-Giving ever, which was at this reception hall place on the beach with 60 or so people of all ages, colors, and sizes. There's roughly one million dogs and apparently the majority of the attendants were from "The Farm," some hippie commune in Tennessee. I don't really know but I ate the shit out some Tofurkey. jk. That would never happen.

Today I saw the biggest trees of my life and a baby squirrel to boot. It was gorgeousness galoregeousness in the majestic Avenue of Giants, and I hitched for the first time ever. Now I'm getting reading to sit in a hot tub.

Nor Cal wins. LA- your vodka is free flowing.

California is not so much a state as it is a wonderful conflict of identity and I love it. God Bless this tale of two Calis.