Tag Archives: California

Ah, Wilderness!

20 Aug


I grew up around a lot of nature.  And not a whole hell of a lot “else.”

When people ask me about where I came from, I reference them to Yosemite.  Its a National park, people have actually heard of it, and know it resides in California…”somewhere in the middle.”

…I grew up in an armpit town, slightly west of there. 

The county itself looks pretty much the same in topography, and is chiefly populated by Miners, Mill Workers and Armed Guards.  It is “Goldrush territory,” and they’re still extricating the stuff like a shiny food crop, have an exorbitant amount of excess in trees (apparently), and is conveniently in the middle of bum-fuck-Egypt…so they decided that planting a third-security prison there, would be a good idea.

…I used to think it was the most unbearably boring town in all of God’s creation. And it might still be. I dunno.  I try my best to go back there as little as humanly possible, so haven’t much to go off of on that point. But in hindsight, I have to toss it up a few marks of “chutzpah.” This is due solely to the laundry list of semi terrifying circumstances surrounding it, that I always just thought of as totally normal…until talking to other people about their childhoods.

Constant mining detonation-cued earthquakes, would erupt at all hours in all seasons…without even a second thought that the San Andreas fault line was under our fucking feet.  Sticky-tack was totally the way to go when displaying any breakables…duck and cover drills were announced over PA systems at schools and work, and everyone was taught how to switch out a blown fuse and light an oil lamp from birth. It wasn’t until I moved to Washington State and lived through a “barely tremble” (which even DJs on the radios were getting into apoplexies about), that I realized the gross amounts of inherent military-like conditioning I’d undergone in childhood…calmly walking to a doorway mid-house tremble, while continuing to count to 100. Because I was “it,” and everyone else was hiding, (prob’ly under tables and behind couches, come to think of it…)

Also, the hot, rotting, urine-like smell of the Millworks, never seemed to quite keep up with the rampant forest fires in general tree devastation, there.  This would bring on the volunteer firefighting squads mostly populated by local prisoners, who were actually being TRAINED in it as a “skilled profession,” with the help of our Parent’s tax dollars.  Intermingled with the civilian population at large with only a uniform to tell them apart, I dunno if the powers that be took into consideration that within an hour under these conditions, everything and everyone is covered in head-to-tow black soot; Including the jumpers with “Prisoner” stenciled on them.

…You would hope, the people in charge would have at least weeded out the pyromaniacs among this crowd…but this would be asking a lot…given that these were the same authorities who thought it a great idea to ship out jam-packed marked minivans (driven by armed guards)  to our local Grammar School, as part of the cheap labor initiative used in building our new quad.

The fact that at any moment, the enticement may be too much to bear, and at least one of said prisoners would take it on the lamb, was almost a given.  And they did from time to time.  And there would be lock-downs.  And people would go looking for them.  But luckily for us, we must have been mailed out the stupider kind.  Because instead murdering people, molesting children, or hitting up a convenience store, taking a hostage, and beating it out of town…they’d always take the road least expected. 

…Like the guy who stole the prison van, and left it parked outside his grandmother’s house…found, hours later, sitting at the table eating milk and cookies.

…Or the one who walked off, mid-a fire, escaping out into the wilderness, turning himself in two days later — a hobbled, broken, bleeding, hysterical mess — on account he was apparently from a city, and had never been in “nature” before.  (It was also rumored he’d been sodomized by a wild animal at some point. I dunno if that part was true or not, but he certainly looked like it.)

I happen to know these stories, (btw) because my Mother worked at said prison at the time, and would bring them home, as reported and laughed over while eating their lunches, served them from hair-netted convicts who liked to point out that the macaroni salad was especially good today cuz they’d used a “special ingredient,” but wouldn’t tell anyone what it was.

…This all adds up to some seriously questionable circumstances when you think about it…but because it was my kiddome (and it was all I knew)…it never really occurred to me at the time.

At the TIME, the most sick and twisted part of my existence, was the fact that despite my pleadings, and melodramatic claims of child abuse…I was constantly being forced against my will into the great outdoors. Because my mother was a camping sadist from hell, who’d inherited the gene directly from her father.



…With all that dirt, and weeds and grass.  With all that sky and sun…and so much air you could practically drown in it.  The bugs lived out there! And like little Kamikaze assholes, always dive-bombed their way into your cup of juice and bit you in places you could never reach to scratch.

As if day trips weren’t bad enough…Mom’s favorite summer past-time torture, was to drive out into the wilderness every fucking weekend, point at the rock and pine-needle strewn land, and claim “this spot” as our new horn of plenty. She’d spike a pole in the ground, throw a blanket over it and begin walking around in big strides, getting drunk on air, and proselytizing about how, “This was the life,” and “people in cities just don’t know the real deal” and “aren’t we lucky to live here?”

…My answer to this was always the same.  I’d take up my 1500 page tomb of Russian Literature, or History on the Holocaust,  and retreat into the back-most section of the tent in abject silence.  I found out early that pleading the fifth was smartest in these circumstances, because if I complained about it even a little bit, she’d force me on a trail hike or some alternate form of holy terror.

After an agonizing sequence of checking and double checking the contents of my sleeping bag, (assuring it was free of snakes, bugs and vermin), I would properly preserve myself with an invisible shield of bug spray covering every square inch of my body (even eyelids), and commence with my reading. And I would not stop again or move from my position, except in cases of eating and peeing, until it was time to go home.

Dear Lord, how I hated those weekends.  More than seafood.  More than peas.  More than homework, even! But because I wasn’t 18 yet, I hadn’t “the vote.”  With no legal protections whatsoever, I was forced into it .  So I went.  And I read.  And tried my best to ignore it.

***Flash forward***

I now live in the Pacific Northwest.

…Of my own free will.

It is occupied mostly by software brainiacs, coffee drinkers, State workers and nature-freaks. 

Most of our land is made up of State parks, wetlands, swamps, rain forests and trails linking them via network spider-webbings and landmarks.  The population is so obsessed with partaking of its infinite varieties, that they will kit themselves out in an REI wet-dream of fleece jackets, cargo shorts, socks pulled up to their kneecaps and rock-climbing sandals…to go hiking through it, in the middle of pissing-down rain, grinning like idiots…under the mass delusion that they are “having a good time.” 

It’s become such a part of the culture here, that no one even thinks twice about it.

…And maybe, because I’ve lived here for twelve years now…maybe because I’m susceptible to any and all random and strange diseases and epidemics that happen to pass by…(like that one involving spider bites, or rashes, or every cold that makes its way through the masses.) Maybe that is why I find myself suddenly (over the long and painful evolution crossing the past twenty years), not “minding” the out-of-door experience as much as I once did. 

I’m not completely cured of it, mind you…just less “allergic.” 

Truth be told: we’ve got some cool stuff here.  It’s green, most if it. And kinda smells good. As long as a bar of soap and hot water face me at the end of the trail…I really kinda like it even.

…But don’t tell Ma that. 

…Even one whiff, and she’ll kidnap me with the Subaru, drive out to some god-forsaken mountain top, and force me to go all “Lewis and Clark” on that shit.

My childhood was scaring enough, thanks.



10 Aug


Once upon a time, not that long ago, I was fighting a personal battle that cost me a lot. 

…It was a vicious War about privacy and self respect…about lies and truths, broken trusts, and shame.  It destroyed friendships, fed gossip, fueled anger, served up crushing guilts and for the rest of my life, I will never quite get past the irony and hypocrisy of it all.

…Not all of which was the fault of others.

Listen, humans really care about what people think of them…how they are viewed by society and their friends and family.  Especially the people who roll their eyes about it and would deny the fact with their last dying breath.

We care.

…We care so much, we become self-righteous about it.  We dig in our heels and refuse to budge…often at whatever the personal, emotional or physical cost may be.  And if you are forced to fight such a battle for long enough, and hard enough…you can often get lost inside of it.  Prejudices that you are fighting, then become a thing you are suddenly embracing in direct contrast…because your need to protect yourself (and those people and relationships you love), takes precident above all else. 

Above all else.

…Until it just doesn’t anymore.

And that is when you have lost the battle. 

…Because sometimes, you get tired.  The body, the soul, the conscience…the everything you have left after months and months of bloody battle, that has been beaten to a bloody pulp, nearly unrecognizable.  We have limits.  We are not Superheros masquerading on this earth, no matter how much we’d like to believe we are.  Even when we are in the “right,” we overcompensate justifications until we are now in the “wrong.”  Especially when we are just not prepared for the War we are waging.

I wasn’t prepared.

I fucked it up.

It took a long time to admit to myself that I was also partly to blame.

…I’ve learned a lot since then.  I’ve learned that pride and prejudice was (and sometimes sadly still IS) a part of who I am.  Like all my other self-aware failings, these are things I have to battle to some end, on a consistent basis. 

Like all mind sicknesses…which I firmly believe without a doubt, both “Pride” and “Prejudice” are…I am forced to face my failing with not a little disgust, and conscious effort on my part to cut it the fuck out.  Like all mind sicknesses, it isn’t necessarily all my fault…due to personal history, education and circumstance…but that does not by any means, make it “alright.”  And I realize this.

…A lot of people, however, do not.

We take our personal beliefs and little prejudices and hold them up like flags, marching into battle against others…PURELY because they do not happen to agree with us.  We turn other’s  private “choices” and “lifestyles” into hell-damnable consequences, which in our own heads will somehow infect the world as a whole….like the fucking Black Plague…if we ever DEEM to allow them to even exist. Whether we partake in them, or not. 

…We are callous to other’s situations and feelings while they do their best just to survive this world…standing in shoes we could never possibly understand.  We point fingers and name-call in jest and wonder what the hell is wrong with our kids who commit heinous hate-crimes saying, “I just don’t understand where they get it from?!” 

…We hide behind versions of “right” and “wrong” taught us from childhood, and pass it onto our children…because it’s all we know to do. We string scriptures together to prove that God is on our side…a God, I’m sure, who is daily watching everything from pulpits to News channels…shaking his head with the sheer audacity at our hypocrisy, hatred and stupidity.

…Even the fact that I am writing this little piece of “admonishment,” is an eyeroller of outstanding cheek.  I know I’m as bad as the rest of humanity at pulling all of this shit.  I know it.

I know I am.

…Every once in a while something happens.  A situation occurs, a mirror is held up in front of me and I have to actually look back at the reflection.  I HAVE to admit, I am not as good a person as I could be…as I am meant to be.  That I have zero ground to stand on when judging how other people choose to live their lives.  Caught, yet again, as the idiot-hypocrite, bitching about how “hypocritical” everyone else is.

Wake up, honey.

So here’s an offer…a battle…an opportunity to serve what is “good” and “fair” and fucking “right.”

Having been raised in the gun-totin’ist Republican Right-winger family that prob’ly ever there was…having to spend the better part of my adulthood to “fix” the kinds of things that this sort of “closed-minded” upbringing can do to a person’s insides…I offer you an opportunity.   How far can a person change and still be themselves?  How do you fight prejudices you were raised with, but which you HAVE TO believe were only passed down in “ignorance,” not purported “hate” and “damnation?” And how do you fight the two sides of guilt that can sometimes crush you in the middle of it all?

You play a right-wing, insistent, bible-thumping, morality-spewer…with the complete intent on preventing a thing — purely for the sake that you do not believe it is right — even though you will not be directly influenced in the least by it.

…SAY those words.  Spew them out with all the hatred and ignorance and vengeance and hell-fire abomination that they contain.  Actually FACE the people to whom this all will effect for the rest of their lives.

…And then realize: you aren’t as bad a person as you might think you are.  You have grown. You have changed.  You have learned some things.

…Because after an entire career of playing whores and gluttons and murderers and villains…I’ve rarely had the type of disgust in my mouth from word-spewing as I did last night, at rehearsal.

…And I’m pretty proud about that.

Come visit us this Saturday and see what it all means…and why basic human rights and “winning” them…are still faaaar from over.

Lets fix that.


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