Fourth of July

An all-American extravaganza. 

The day our forefathers turned traitors. 

The day I rode a bike so far I couldn't get properly drunk.

We started around noon, and by we I mean the Dish, Greg, Rob and I. 

We headed into Naples curious whether or not water 

fights would be in full swing.

Yep.

The funniest part of this tradition is watching the uninformed 

people react to strangers and their watery violence. 

They stare, confused because everyone else around them 

seems to be enjoying themselves.

After a few beers we stopped at Taco Surf to have more.

Then we were off to a house near the 405 and Palo Verde Avenue. The ride there proved fun, but the ride back... not so fun.

Micah jammed with some of his buddies, and Greg jumped in. 

Later, I did the same.

The night was fun. I didn't see many fireworks, but I was surrounded 

by good people and a lot of booze. 

Good enough for me.

Yurt So Good

Published in the District on July 1.

Adjectives used to describe camping usually fall somewhere in between gnarly and pleasant, but camping is rarely considered fabulous. Gnarly camping is learning to dig holes to crap in, lest a friend’s dog runs away with your steamy treat in its mouth. Meanwhile, a pleasant camping trip involves things like tolerable people, healthy fires and endless supplies of cheap red wine. But fabulous camping blurs the line separating a fancy resort and a cold plot of dirt.

Big Sur is home to the epitome of fabulous camping, Treebones.

The first thing you’ll notice at Treebones is the ocean—the view is reason enough alone to come—but it’s the 16 yurts resting in the shadows of Monterey Cypress and Monterey Pine trees that truly make this place unique.

Defined on its Web site (treebonesresort.com) as tent-like circular fabric structures with wooden lattice frames, standing inside a yurt isn’t too different from being in your studio apartment—minus the kitchen and bathroom. In fact, the only aspect of a yurt that is tentlike is the thin piece of cloth separating you from, well, everything else. Otherwise, it’s a backhouse.

If the price for a yurt is too high (rates range from $155 to $230 per night for two people), there are five ocean-view campsites scattered throughout the property for $65 per night—but there’s a strict two-night minimum and a two-person limit to each site. Treebones also provides a two-person guesthouse, but last on its list of places to hide out is the Nest, a surreal tree house deserving of its own Danny Elfman score—and only big enough to fit two adults with sleeping bags. (It also comes with a campsite.)

Catering to old souls and modern hippies, Treebones recalls a time that predates our modern Tweets and Pokes. Here, you can enjoy a free breakfast and comfortably strike up a conversation with a stranger—it’s all part of a heightened sense of community, and you get that this was the intent of owners (and Long Beach residents) Corinne and John Handy back when they opened Treebones in the fall of 2004.

At Treebones, the Handys have succeeded in creating a kind of utopian society perched on a hill, where the only way to fully experience the atmosphere is to open up and be civil. (For the shy types in need of social lubrication, beer and wine are offered in the main lodge, but campers are also allowed to bring their own stuff.) And indeed, even the layout of this 10-acre parcel seems situated to bring people together, with one of the best views of the ocean to be found at the main lodge’s patio. Additionally, although some yurts are equipped with a gas-burning fireplace and others have a small heater, the main lodge also houses the best fire, and it’s joined by a small but inviting heated pool and hot tub, perfect venues for sharing stories about your life and travels.

Still, there’s solitude to be found in the wilderness as well—especially if you lazily roam the property late in the evening, sipping from a wine bottle and gazing up into a sea of stars.

Jonathan Bueno

My new video about local Long Beach artist Jonathan Bueno is up. Check it out.

www.thedistrictweekly.com

The Buggiest

Natalie and El Jefé flew south for a quick visit. 

Natalie's sister married some dude, and they all spent the night on the Queen.

John E., Jeff and I drove to San Pedro to do some fishing on the Monte Carlo one of the days.

The conditions were a bit grim out at sea.

Everyone was getting a little sea sick, but I only have a picture of Jeff looking ill. 

We caught Sculpin and Sand Dab.

The End.

District Weekly video

Please check out my video of Jason Lytle from Grandaddy on www.thedistrictweekly.com.

Jason Lytle @ The Art Theatre

Don't get me wrong. 

I think the Art Theatre is a great place to watch a show, and normally I like people and all shades of blue. The show this night though had me questioning my likes.

Jason Lytle, frontman for the disbanded Grandaddy, headlined the event. Since I'm hanging out with the District now, I was able to get my name on the "cool person" list. I arrived around 5 p.m., which happened to be too early and very uncool-like, but I thought I would get a chance to interview Lytle. That never happened. I found out most of his people were at a bar and he was skating. It actually made me happy to hear that. 

I saw him in an interview on the KCRW Web site, he seemed down and out. He made a comment about this solo project of his. He explained it as being an experiment, and he needs to see an end in sight. His tone, granted it was early in the morning, made me think he's burnt out. One of my questions to him was going to be about skateboarding and if he finds enough time to enjoy it. 

I wonder if he hit up El Dorado?

The scene inside was lazy, lazy and extremely blue. I figured that if I was plagued with random fits of depression, this atmosphere would have triggered a wrist-cutting spasm. The melancholy lighting pretty much remained throughout the show. 

I think it caused the severe lack of enthusiasm in the crowd, or maybe it was the absence of alcohol.

First up: Two Guns. 

They're a local band with a decent sound.

I remember there was an event I attended in high school, which was something similar to a Battle of the Bands, but this certain event was more of a talent fiasco. You know, one minute your two buddies are riffing on guitars and the next minute a tiny Asian girl is riffing harder on a violin. That sort of thing. I remember the crowd properly sitting in their seats, some with their hands folded over their knees. It seemed like most of the people didn't really want to be there, but they had to come out and support the children. These people would always let an uncomfortable amount of time pass before they started clapping at the end of the musical piece. 

I experienced that nonsense again this night. I was trapped in a room full of quasi-supportive parents.

The same behavior occurred for the next band, O's and the Oculist.

They're another local band, but they were producing 

a more trippy feel.

The atmosphere changed a bit when Lytle took the stage, but not by much. The band sounded great. I realized I was lucky to see him in such an intimate setting.

I interviewed a few people after the show. They were all stoked on Lytle's set. He peppered in some old Grandaddy hits with his songs from his new solo album "Yours Truly, the Commuter." If all goes as planned, my video will be posted on the District's Web site. 

I'll post a link when that happens.

Overall, the show was worth it, but I was definitely glad to go home after spending seven hours with the Art Theatre.

Big Sur - Day Two

 The Dish and I were up early again. I slept well considering our new environment. The only aspect of the yurts that's truly tent-like is the thin piece of cloth separating us from them. 

Our bed was comfortable, and the blanket count sufficed. A constant ocean breeze raced through camp bringing on cold conditions, but we stayed warm.

The main house offered free coffee and make-your-own waffles. 

Everything tasted decent. 

We talked to a few strangers, looked at a few items adorning the 

walls and then we raced off up the coast.

I had to stop and take some pictures along the way.

We decided when we return to Big Sur we will camp for real; we missed the fire pit.

 But if we ever have the money to stay at another Big Sur resort we 

will stay at Deetjen's Big Sur Inn. 

Deetjen's is old, and to be honest a bit frightening. 

A few vintage cabins are scattered around a small piece of property

 and we heard the doors can only be locked from the inside.

The honchos were kind enough to install a lock on 

the door in the picture below. 

Deetjen's property line burrows into the woods. A private road in the back makes for a nice hike up to an old wooden bench with a view of the ocean.  

We could see the residual of the fire that raged here last summer. 

A stranger told us that if the fire would have enveloped Deetjen's the historic property would have been lost forever, never to be rebuilt again. Apparently all the cabins are not built to modern code, because they haven't been fully refurbished since the 1930s-1940s. 

After snooping around we hit the road again. Next stop, Nepenthe. 

Supposedly this is one of the oldest (and best) gift shops in Big Sur. 

I don't agree, because among all the fancy artwork and drapery 

there were no patches to be found. 

We spoke to another stranger before we left Deetjen's. The gentleman told us of a beach with purple sand, but we had to blah, blah, blah...blah...blah. He started spouting off exact miles from exact points on an exact road. Apparently there were no signs and the one-way dirt road was inconspicuous. 

We were never going to find this place.

But we found it.

We strolled. We ate. We played Frisbee. 

Then we were off on another hike. 

This time we found a trail along the side of the main highway, so we parked next to all the other cars along the street. 

The McWay Waterfall House trail lead us to the terrace of the house that once stood there. Lathrop and Helen Hooper Brown used to own the house and also owned hundreds of acres in Big Sur. In 1962 Helen gave the property to the state and she named it after her friend Julia Phieffer. 

I also read that one of Helen's wishes was that no one would ever be 

allowed access to the beach by the waterfall. 

 

Below is a photo from another trail we found.

On our way back to Treebones I noticed a lot of these wooden stairways situated over barbed wire along the side of the highway. On the other side there are trails that lead to the cliffs over looking the ocean. We will explore them next time. 

When night fell we layered ourselves up, grabbed 

two bottles of wine, my camera and my tripod. 

We walked the perimeter. 

We snapped photos.

We drank.

In the post before there is a picture of us sitting on red Adirondack chairs watching the sun fall into the ocean. 

We sat there again, but this time we looked up. 

Tricia saw her first satellite.

By the end of the evening we owned the place. 

We made construction plans. 

We laid out where and when things would happen. We were the proprietors, the security. That's exactly why it was OK to spill a cup of wine on the walkway. 

We would clean it up after we were done laying there, 

or whenever we felt like it. 

Soon we were the animals, the wind, then the grass. We were content, happy.

Then, sometime early in the morning, ravaged by a noxious stomach,  I was just a wet-eyed guest hugging a trash can.