Wanderlust
I’m sitting next to a crackling fire in the back yard at Ben’s place in San Luis Obispo. We’re getting ready to cook some dumpster flanksteak. Nine chairs encircle the fire pit, five of them being tree stumps. To my right about ten meters away, seemingly on the same level ground as me, perches Kat’s treehouse. There’s another one directly ahead of me, further away across the yard, with roof lined by a string of cool electric green lights. Ben’s treehouse is over in the middle of the yard, eclipsed by the fire, and the village continues from there. Earlier today I busked for the first time, accompanied by a drummer called Davey who’s been a street musician since he was seventeen living in the Haight. We made nine dollars in about a half hour, and split the pot. It felt good, even though I messed up half the chords and all of the words to Cinnamon Girl. Earlier this morning I did my first yoga, at a class taught by roommate Sunshine. Riding around my bike after that I realized my back felt less tense than it has in a very long time.
Friday night I went to a drum circle with Tim down at the Cal Poly organic farm. It was the first drum circle I’ve actually sat in, and it was about what I expected. A bunch of uppermiddle white kids, with and without dreadlocks, sitting around a fire, not entirely sure of themselves, but enthusiastic to have some sort of ritualistic experience. A couple friends of Tim’s showed up and really brought the leadership in the circle with their confident playing. We didn’t stay too long because we wanted to get over to the dumpster in case anything good was happening. There was a cop busting someone in the lot, but we decided it would be okay. We scrounged a little bit of stuff, mostly potatoes, but it was still a cool time. It just wasn’t a very good day to go, as the dumpster was quite full.
Kat took us surfing on Tuesday and Wednesday, at Pismo and Morro Bay, respectively. Surfing is awesome. Floating effortlessly across the smaller waves, balancing on the board, salt sea foam splashing the face when cresting, and the strange feeling of warmth in the water despite its obvious coldness– but actually catching and riding a wave is just too incredible. I never managed to stand up myself, but still caught a couple enough to experience the exhilaration of being swept along the rolling peak, and shifting weight to carve the board laterally. Kat’s golden retriever Saint seems to be the best surfer around though.