Scuzzy, Scummy, Sucumb-y

Home Sweet Home. Tucked behind the Redwood Curtain. A place of extremes: from hairy grimy hippies to heavyfooted homophobics, majestic wilderness and stenchclinging pulpmills. A place where words like "high fructose corn syrup", "partially hydrogenated oil", "pesticides" and "GMO" are curses. Where amphibians and mammals frolic and boogy together, despite biological incompatibilities. A thin white film envelops the world, turning trees to moss, water to fungus, metal to rust, all without a murmur of protest. In the words of a transient (p.c. term for homeless hitchhiker/bum) with whom I spoke yesterday: "This place is weird man, there's like a haze over everything". He wanted to get to San Francisco or Seattle, whichever came first. I let him use my laptop to look for rideshares on craigslist while surfing on the city Wi-Fi in Arcata. I wanted to tell him that this haze is my home; Home sweet Humboldt.

Here is a place where creatures like the banana slug are possible and abundant (above is a picture of banana slug for reference), and cities like Eureka and Arcata can neighbor each other without a proverbial Peloponnesian War. Even in mid June the weather is scuzzy, and as my brother noted: "Eureka looks like it could be the set of a zombie movie." The irony of the Arcata Plaza isn't lost on anyone: willful and unwilling transients napping under a tree, their bodies being penetrated endlessly by the waves of the world wide web, free for anyone with a laptop. (to find out more about Arcata transients click here: http://www.northcoastjournal.com/021501/cover0215.html) People have their favourite Burrito Bus, piloted by Esteban himself, the Jesús of comida mexicana. Here is Esteban's stallion:

Don't get me wrong, I love home, but it is quirky. Being consumed by fog at all hours can get disconcerting, not to mention being dwarfed by the mighty Sequoia sempervirens, whose fate is played out daily by the righteous and the wicked (depending on the side you choose). Rather than scribble endless nothings on the daily comings and goings I thought I could characterize my County through a triad of anecdotes:




1. Cultural conflation at the Summer Arts and Music Festival

The day after my flight landed I was shipped merrily away with my younger sibling and two of his friends to Benbow's annual Summer Arts and Music Festival. The event was an hour south, still in Humboldt County, but out of the existential white mist which characterizes Northern Humboldt (hereafter NorHum). SoHum by contrast is a quaint, vibrant, cultivated place, with a colorful (and bright) atmosphere and persona. Plus the sun shines. Benbow is a fairgrounds for community gatherings, and all around feelgoodyness. Local vendors, foodservices and performing acts were aplenty, and if you were lucky you might catch a glimpse of this beard. (You see Alex? This guy almost tops the man on the cover of your Nepal Lonely Planet book!)

Although there were many decent performances of all varieties (including the P-Funk Allstars), one left a distinct mark on my consciousness: the bellydancers. We found shadeunder a tree and sat down to watch them. The dancers were skilled, lively and Caucasian. Only as the act continued did I notice the decor: cloth portraits of Ganesha, Shiva, et al. (Deities) hanging in the fore and background on Saris-made-wallpaper. They were framed by other fabrics with Arabic calligraphy- words of the Prophet. I smiled a little, thinking it kind of silly that the "near East" and "far East" were so easily exchangeable. Poor India and her Hindus, forever to be lumped into the same pile of the unmentionables in the Middle East. After a moment, however, I decided to stop being so critical and focus on the showcased dancing, rather than the auxiliary tent. The musicians behind the dancers continued belting out their rhythms and tunes and as the song changed I recognized the tune. I remembered it from choir, and how did the lyrics go? OH! I remember now, song: Hine Ma Tov, origin: Jewish hymn. Irony struck, smacked my face to the right, and still had time to left hook me in the jaw. Maybe I'm just a snobby Middle East student, sitting on my high horse, flirting with Edward Said but this was an inescapable tricultural conflation. I could only come up with two possible explanations: either this was a wonderful show of Orientalism or a new way to peaceful humanism. Orientalism, the buzzword of my education, is the idea that we (of the Occident) define the Oriental (in all her shapes, sizes, ethnicities and nations) as an other which is foreign and exotic to us. This relationship hinges on a social hierarchy in which Occident is perceived (consciously or subconsciously) as superior to the Orient, or north to the south, or West to the East. This combination of Hindu imagery, Arab folk dance, and Jewish music may be a manifestation of otherzation through a dismissal of cultural difference. That all these cultures are seen as similar or interchangeable shows an indifference to their legitimacy as a social order, real to those who live it. Or that those who are thought to be knowledgeable in the East believe that hummus is a dip for Samosas.
The other possibility is that the performers know that they are combining (at least) three distinct cultures, traditions and religions, and they actively don't care. They recognize that all humans are in fact human, and by dismissing our differences we are closer to actualizing ourselves as a species.

The third possibility is that they just like to dance and play the drums.

2. Bayshore Mall Reunion

I recalled that at a time before bars, cars, parks and High School, there was really only one place where us kids could hang out: The Bayshore Mall. Eurekans love their Bayshore Mall, so much in fact that The Old Navy Outlet, The Gap, J.C. Penny, Mervyns, Gottschalks and countless other locally and massively owned businesses have come and gone, 'er to be seen again. The Bayshore Mall, once a dear home is now a center for suburban decay, lost chances, and fiscal fiasco. Unfortunately it is also the only place we could think of that sold blacklight markers. On a rushed trip we briefly stopped by Radioshack and Spencer's Gifts. In Radioshack there was recognition. The cashier was an acquaintance from High School, name forgotten, fellow member of German club. I asked him how he was, small talk, chitchat, whatever you want to call it; it's no good. Carrying on to Spencer's Gifts, a crude novelty store, filled with Gothic Kids in leather and ripped fishnets, Daniel asks me to pay as he has no money, paper or plastic. In his rush, Daniel spills his coffee on the check-out counter. The Cashieress grumbles something jokingly at him, and then I realize she looks familiar, a memory of 8 years ago. My Grade 8 (8th Grade?) heart skips, and I remember it all too well. One week, 12 years old, me and her back at the Mall, hanging out. Holding hands. Sweet unimaginative nothings, passed back and forth via intricately folded notes of paper, scribbled clumsily, handed off during passing periods. "Your name is Kristina, right?", "yeah, and yours is Eric?", "Yeah, you only knew that because it says that on my Visa", "I think I would've remembered otherwise", "Didn't we like date for a week in 8th Grade?" Awkward laughter.

The Bayshore Mall is where it all goes down. Hellos, Goodbyes. But no tears are shed. As we're walking out the Mall exit, Daniel spies a girl in his graduating class working at the "All American Buffet". 3 for 3. I bet between us we had a mutual acquaintance working in each and every Bayshore Mall establishment.

3. Kneeland Shoot-Out

The following is a story passed on to me via my family. Although our largest "urban" center is Eureka, we actually inhabit the "city" of Kneeland: a collection of houses, a school and a post office on a hill, tucked into a vast pocket of wilderness.

"So Eric, did you hear about the attempted break-in on the hill?" "Umm... which one? Attempted? What are you talking about?" "Well, I guess some burglar meth-head guy was looking to rob a house about a mile up the road from Green Road (our road- creative, right?), this guy was armed with a handgun or something as he decides he needs money and creeps onto someone's property at 6:00 in the morning. So they guy enters the property, but little did he know that the owner of the house was awake and paranoid enough not only to own a gun, but also to have it accesible when he saw someone entering his property. The owner of the house fires his gun up in the air to try to scare the burglar guy away, but of course the robber, confident with pistol, head full of drugs, chooses fight over flight. He fires at the owner, who chooses flight over fight, and takes off into the wilderness. A gun battle ensues as the two of them are armed hunter and armed hunted." (The wilderness looks a little something like this:)



"As the two guys run through the woods, firing at each other, they stumble upon another person's property, a police officer, who also owns a firearm and is prepared to use it. He hears gunshots and enters the chase, unloading his firearm at the other two men. Once all the ammunition was ejected and all the neighbors awake, the three men emerged from the woods, unscathed, apparently impervious to bullets and in need of marksmanship training. The burglar was allegedly arrested and the homeowner questioned. All's well that ends well."

sort of. This is my home, a multifarious place (but what place isn't?). With righteous hippies, java sipping yuppies, teenage mall rats, right(and left)wing gun toters, strung out criminals, and arrogant half-Canadian university students what's not to love?

E