Hello 2011

Looking south down the California coast near Gorda

The tempest rolled in, dragging with it the bluster and fury needed to dispose of one year and usher in the next. Inside our oversized bird’s nest, we were cozy and protected from the elements, the expectation for some rain wasn’t going to deter us from our night outdoors. We were like two snuggling birds side by side, bringing in the new year. What we hadn’t anticipated was the wind, which came on well past the time we had crawled up the ladder to take shelter. Somewhere in the middle of the night and day, it started to howl, forcing us to tie down the rain fly in an attempt to stop it from flapping against the tent. While the wind would wake us with an occasional gust, it never rose to the point of dislodging us.

It would take the light of day to rattle us out of our cage and push us from our nest to perform ablutions. Finished with that, we fluttered over to the feeding grounds to hunt and peck out a morning meal. There were no worms offered to us highly evolved birds, although I will admit to a bit of a fetish for the seeds and nuts that were readily available in this spread laid out before us. Human beaks being what they are, we resorted to eating Treebone’s locally-made peanut granola with instruments and bowls. Grazing ain’t nothing if not taken seriously, so once done with the first course, it was on to the make-’em-yer-self-waffles. Throw on some banana and syrup, and we were in forager heaven. We lingered for a while near the fire with a cup of coffee and enjoyed watching the day come alive, with the rest of the flock joining us here on the hill over the ocean in this forest of Treebones.

Caroline Wise and John Wise on the California coast under a rainbow

When we do finally take off, we fly into rainbows. If I were to write a blog entry about the number of rainbows Caroline and I have seen on our various travels, I am certain that hundreds of rainbow photos would accompany the narrative.

A mist and cloud enshrouded California coast on the Pacific Coast Highway

Out of the band of color, back into the gray low cloud mist, hugging the coast and shortening the more typical long-distance views that are a major attraction of visiting the wild coast. Even this light, this dark, and for some dismal weather is beautiful to Caroline and me; it adds mystery to the environment and makes having the heater on in the car feel extra cozy.

A rainbow over the Big Sur coast in California

Not satisfied with a singular rainbow, we are so lucky to enjoy rainbows! An hour and a half up the road and not very far from the first and easily assumable only rainbow we’d likely see this day, the surprise of surprise happens, and we see another rainbow. Peaks of blue sky escaped the hold of the gray shroud of weather, wishing to be bad. Onward and upward, we fly against the instinct that commands us to go south for the winter. We are determined to follow rainbows and continue on this northerly trek. With this commitment, we flew hard, covering almost 60 miles in little more than 2 hours.

Jellyfish at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

The prospect of a rainy windy day at the seaside made the warm shelter of an old favorite hangout shine sunny enthusiasm upon us for our return to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. We couldn’t swim with the fishies, but we could enjoy watching them doing their swimmy thing. For hours, we walked along and took great pauses to revisit the jellyfish, silver dollars, the octopus, the giant kelp forest, a sea cucumber that needed petting, and even the good old chiton. More fish than you can shake an eel at are here at the aquarium.

Seahorse at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

So are screaming little shits. This could have been a perfect day, but it seems that parents forgot that parenting in some small way implies a minimum of guidance, and a sense of decorum should be instilled in their charges. But these parents were having none of that, or maybe New Year’s Day is scream-your-head-off-day, and no one told us. Enough of these cackling chicks and hens; time to face facts and fly south.

A little fishy at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

Okay, but just one more fish or two, and then we’ll be ready to go.

Turtle at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

But wait, there’s more, such as this green sea turtle that came right up to the glass posing for us.

Inside the kelp forest at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

Just a final glance at the Kelp Forest, and then we’ll leave, so says Caroline the Aquarium Addict.

The Big Sur coast in California

En route south for our return to the Birds Nest, we stopped at “Our Beach,” a.k.a. Garrapata State Park, which had been skipped on the way up due to the little ground covered during the meander north. Too many of those, “OH stop, this spot is even more beautiful than the last” moments lend themselves to those two-hour travel times to go but miles taking forever to get somewhere – this is not a complaint; it is a fortunate happenstance we imbibe at all too often. If we were to stop nowhere else this afternoon, it would be here at our beach.

Crashing waves and blowing spray on a beach in Big Sur, California

A small amount of sun graced our presence with a poke through clouds here and there. It sparkled on water and waves, borrowing some of the glitter from the stars far overhead. The waves are roaring as they typically do on this beach. On previous visits, we have seen that the ocean churns so ferociously here that the sand levels rise and fall, changing the character of the beach with dramatic effect.

Late afternoon on the Big Sur coast in California

The walk from the roadside to the beach, as seen in the two photos above, is one of the more dramatic views up the coast; it never fails to impress us. Directly in front of us while on the beach, the waves tower and stack up to roll in with one after the other in rapid succession. And then to the south, as seen right here, the sun lights the beach and rocks with golden repose. We melt into this landscape every time, making us one with our beach.

A bit of sun and blue sky on an otherwise rainy day on the Big Sur coast in California

We now must race against the setting sun to return to our perch, as we don’t want to find ourselves squatting in some random nest on an unfamiliar branch. We arrive in the nick of time to the last embers of available light. The wind is howling here near Cape San Martin; a quick check of our nest and the tent inside assures us that nothing has blown away yet. Time for dinner, and a wonderful one at that. A bread basket and dipping oil were brought with glasses of water from their own well. The olive oil was infused with herbs grown right here at Treebones garden plot including lemon thyme, sweet marjoram, dill, parsley, chives, and tarragon. Next up was the homemade butternut squash soup with roasted pumpkin seeds, followed by a beet salad with orange wedges and mixed greens; both the beets and greens were grown right here in the garden. Caroline opted for the butternut squash ravioli with sage sauce and, for me, the pot roast with roasted winter veggies atop blue cheese potatoes au gratin – both meals were the perfect comfort foods for a chilly winter night.

A dip in the jacuzzi with the wind and cold rain beating at our faces was on order before returning to the fire-warmed dining room for a shared dessert of sticky date cake with caramel drizzle and a homemade hot chocolate chai. By 9:00 p.m., the wind still rips at the trees outside; we will try to fall asleep in a flapping wind tunnel and dream of the best New Year’s.

Seeya 2010

California coast north of Santa Barbara

A perfect last day of the year will lead us into a perfect tomorrow. A beautiful sky over a gorgeous landscape was the road we traveled on our way up the central California coast. Stops took us to beaches, cliffside overhangs offering panoramas of the Pacific, and tide pools where plenty of rocks and marine life are found. Should you find yourself meandering along at fifteen miles per hour where the posted speed is thirty-five, forty-five, and sometimes fifty-five, but you are occupied to near distraction craning your neck and pulling over every five hundred feet for a closer look, well then you must be in one of a few places; Hawaii, Yellowstone, or the Pacific Coast Highway. For Caroline and me this New Year’s weekend, it was the latter, although we have plenty of rubbernecking experience in the other locations, too. Treebones Resort is the destination we are aiming to take up our perch for welcoming in 2011 later today.

On the beach near San Simeon, California

From Santa Barbara, we got underway on Highway 101 north towards San Luis Obispo and then Morro Bay, where we would hug the coast for the rest of our long weekend. The next sixty miles will take something close to forever to traverse; how is anyone supposed to drive this road and not want to stop everywhere to look at everything?

Flock of seagulls in California

We’ve seen this section of the coast countless times by now. Still, it holds endless fascination. We pass through the beautiful little village of Cambria, where we’ll live in some future reincarnated life, but keep driving to make our check-in with Treebones before 4:00 pm. We spot great-view number who-knows-which and decide this must be our next stop as memory can’t be sure if we have actually been to this particular 1000-foot stretch of coast before. Seems familiar but I don’t recognize any of these birds.

Piedras Blancas lighthouse in California

Just the other side of San Simeon, we miss taking the tour of Hearst Castle yet again, but that’s fine with us because we spot some Elephant Seals on a beach where we hadn’t seen them before, anyway; we can guess with this being a holiday weekend there will be hundreds of people crowding the boardwalk at the designated observation point. From this beach, we have a fantastic view of the Piedras Blancas lighthouse and know we are nearing the now-closed old blue-and-white motel we spent New Year’s Eve at back in 2002 – fond memories indeed.

Elephant Seal near Piedras Blancas, California

At the mothballed, crumbling motel, we walk over the property remembering the first time we stopped here with Caroline’s mother during Jutta’s first visit to America back in 1997. In the gift shop, someone asked if we had stopped at the beach about a mile or two behind us and checked out the Elephant Seals; we had not. Back then, there was no boardwalk and fenced area, which in turn let us approach probably too close for what was safe but we still tried to be calm and unobtrusive. Today, we have the opportunity to be respectful, quiet, and alone with a large male who is napping on the beach we are visiting.

California coast north of Piedras Blancas

The further north we travel, the more the weather tells us to be prepared. We knew when leaving Arizona that we were facing a good chance of having it rain on us, but we weren’t going to stay home and lose the money we paid in advance for our “room.”

The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

A giant bird’s nest with a commanding view of the ocean would be how a real estate listing might start for where we are staying. But it’s not for sale, although it is available to rent for a night or two. The folks at Treebones in the far south of Big Sur have elevated the idea of roughing it into a luxury yurt resort. Well, yurts are mighty fine. We have stayed in more than one on many an occasion in Oregon’s state parks, but we have never, and I doubt you have either, climbed a ladder, passing through a circular entrance to enter a human nest. If birds stood six feet tall and had sixteen-foot wingspans, maybe this would be the kind of place they would weave and call home, minus the futon.

Inside The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

A night in Kokopelli’s Cave, another in a Hogan at Monument Valley, the house Herman Melville stayed at in New Bedford, camping next to the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, and now a bird nest built for people next to the Pacific, this surely fits in as one of the more unique lodgings we have found ourselves in. Hey, Cedar Creek Treehouse near Mt. Rainier, we have you in our focus.

Caroline Wise and John Wise in front of The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Yes, we tweeted and chirped upon our arrival at the nest; no, we didn’t soil it. I failed to convince my ladybird to try the morsel I wanted to regurgitate for her. After getting comfy up here, we found it difficult to leave the nest, pathetic for two people in their forties, although not totally out of the ordinary during these difficult economic times.

The view from inside The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

This was our view from the portal of the nest to the bigger world outside. I would guess that some of you might understand why Treebones Resort will now be on our permanent list of places we must return to frequently. I’m thinking April would be nice, or after the summer fog in the early fall.

Sea urchin shell found on the beach in Big Sur, California

After setting up our tent inside the nest, as the forecast called for a ten percent chance of rain, we went up the road to Willow Creek to scour some tide pools and examine rocks and waves. We crawled over boulders to the water’s edge and took a good long time to linger, searching for whatever might catch our eye. Small crabs crawled about, anemones withered where the water level had exposed them, and not a single starfish was to be seen, although Caroline scored a sea urchin shell.

Surfer riding a wave in Big Sur, California

Two guys also determined to spend the last day of the year doing something rather than sitting at home were sealed up tight in their wetsuits before paddling out for some surfing. The waves seemed a bit small to us for good surfing, but luck was with these intrepid dudes who, once in a while, had a good swell pop-up for both of them to get a few good rides in.

Creek running into the Pacific ocean near Big Sur, California

Leaving this first signed vista point north of Gorda, the way back to the car took us past a small creek flowing into the ocean. With the storms of late, we would notice that all the creeks and waterfalls along the coast were running with a goodly amount of runoff. While the weather wasn’t cooperating with snapping off any magnificent dramatically lit landscapes, it was possible to grab a few intimate shots that didn’t rely on direct sunlight or sweeping skies.

Rock side in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Then, it was time to fly up the coast for an overlook of Pacific Valley. Over the fence, we ventured down a trail through a thicket to a cliffside to enjoy the late-day views. This was one of those rare spots we had never stopped at before. With little roadside parking, it would be an easy location to drive right by. Lucky for us, we opted to make this pullout or final roadside stop for the day.

Rocks and ocean in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

The sky was dull, cold, and gray but with a character and charm that kept us happy to have given our time to explore this outcropping. As beautiful as it is here, I may never understand why we aren’t sharing this trail with thousands of others, but for whatever reason it is, I suppose we can thank our lucky stars that the majority of humanity is watching the New Year happen on television. This fine rock and ocean view is all the TV I need.

Sea birds sitting cliffside in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Below us, with their backs to the wind on a giant sheltering rock, a couple of dozen birds have taken up a roost on some near-vertical rock ledges, defying our idea of just how they may be glued to such a precarious perch. We scan the horizon as we have all day for those migrating whales of winter but spot not a one, and try as we might this weekend, not a sign of them will be found.

Looking south in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Like many birds, we weren’t about to be caught flying about after dark and pointed our beaks in the direction of our nest. Jacuzzi, pool, jacuzzi, pool, jacuzzi, pool, and then a final warming dip in the jacuzzi before heading back to our perch high above the ocean for some stargazing. Dinner came late, this being New Year’s Eve, no need to rush things when trying to stay up late after a long day of fun. Treebones Resort was having a small party for us guests and anyone else who wanted to join the festivities in their restaurant at the center of the yurt village. On the buffet menu, we were offered all-you-can-eat sushi, frog legs, filet mignon sliders, cheese plate, bruschetta, tapenade, blackberries, raspberries, dried apricots, and a dessert of either apple or pecan pie. We spent the hours before the old year turned over to the new one near the fireplace, listening to Darren Delmore sing, play guitar, and his harmonica.

Not this nor any other of these travels, hobbies, concerts, festivals, good meals, or the many opportunities we enjoy are taken for granted. We pinch ourselves at the good fortune of it all and are grateful that we have the wherewithal to follow through and do what we have planned to do. There is no sense of entitlement, and so often, we feel a tad out of place, standing in awe that we have ended up where we are. But that’s ok, we’d rather be excited, thrilled, and tickled that each new adventure and journey is like the first of everything all wrapped up in one. As midnight approached, a Happy New Year and Welcome to 2011 cheer went up with a toast of champagne and a kiss shared between Caroline and me.

The Photo I Cannot Take

Noise

Are we being conditioned with beeps, bleeps, clicks, rings, jingles, engines, and buzzes of an artificial soundscape that is acting to destroy our relationship to the sounds of the natural world, further alienating us from the nature of Earth?

The espresso machine hisses, the GPS speaks its directions, and the cell phone plays a little song telling you someone must talk to you. The French fry cooker bleats incessantly; the keyboard clicks and the fasten your seat belt alarm beeps to annoyance. We park our car to music played in the lot, music blares at us while shopping, TV’s in restaurants remind us of things we are missing in our attempt to have a moment for ourselves. The microwave sounds the alarm that the meal within its innards is ready to be consumed, the electronic box next to your pillow rattles you awake, and your computer starts up with a bleeping symphony.

How long before your shirt warns you that your deodorant is failing or your glasses alert you with a snappy ad from your optometrist that your vision has deteriorated since your last checkup 14 months ago? Will chirping skin sensors let us know to step in the sun to replenish our vitamin D. Dddrrrinng, dddrrrinng….oh excuse me, my bladder is texting me that I need to drink more water.

Geminids

The night sky from Badger Springs exit off the Black Canyon highway in Arizona

Shooting stars streak overhead, more wishes to be made. A crescent moon dips below the horizon turning off the brightness of night allowing darkness to take over the sky. With the heavens now blackened the milky way with its ribbon of far-off suns has become the stage, tempting us with the unknown. While the day is the domain of finding familiarity with geography, plants, and animals, it is during the wee hours that the stars, pulling our gaze upwards, have intrigued the imaginations of peoples across time. How many nights over how many years did our ancestors keep vigil with a dedicated eye on the position of these points in the sky? Were they divorced from the day as they scouted patterns, paths, and a return of a meteor or comet that might portend new mysteries?

The night sky from Badger Springs exit off the Black Canyon highway in Arizona looking towards Phoenix

In the dryness of the desert, our view of the scintillating magic is only obscured by some fast-moving thin clouds and the city light pollution in the distance. High above we look at the red flicker, the blinking speck, and the pulsing distant suns while bright silvery stars hold steady. And although it is winter and we are approaching one o’clock in the morning, the cold found out here is a reasonable chill kept at bay with a good bundling of layers and the snuggle of warm arms and a soft cheek. All around us, stars drop from above, some glide sideways, others aim for the horizon. A celestial rain is outpacing our ability to find wishes needed to be made when so many have already been granted.

The night sky from Badger Springs exit off the Black Canyon highway in Arizona

There is sadness in the stars. Their audience has left them, exchanging unknown mysteries of the universe for certainty in finding a winner watching a favorite team in competition or tuning in to witness the drama of a human tragedy that is sure to grip the viewer and explain any loose ends within the hour. On occasion, there are moments when the stars will find the random fan who has ventured into one of the few remaining dark corners of the earth to make communion. Maybe they spot a couple out at sea on a moonless night taking in the brilliance of a calm and glassy ocean reflecting starlight that traveled many a year to be there. And maybe it is the invisible stardust that is the glue where after sharing unspeakable beauty the love of two people is further cemented and the stars are still able to celebrate their magic.

Tucson Again

Hotel Congress in Tucson, Arizona

Hotel Congress is the place to be.
Criminal livin’ is the life for me.
Jail spreadin’ out so far and wide.
Keep that freedom; just give me John Dillinger.

So it doesn’t much rhyme, so what? It was the first jingle that came to mind, and I’m not about to give any considerable time to writing the opening to a blog entry that really just needs to tell you that we stayed at Hotel Congress, where John Dillinger was arrested along with his gang and sent back to Indiana. Eventually, he broke out of jail there and continued his crime spree, never to return to Tucson.

Cup of Coffee

The day started with coffee, from the same cup John Dillinger drank coffee from back in 1934. We sat at the same table Dillinger ate breakfast at before shooting the place up. I had my eggs, bacon, and toast the same way Dillinger had them fixed, and then I took a much-needed leak in the same toilet Dillinger did before he shot it, too. I went back for more coffee and decided to shoot up the place myself, then left for a bank and robbed it – Dillinger style. After returning to the hotel, it caught fire, I leapt from the window, but the coppers nabbed me and sent me back to Indiana, where I escaped from jail to grab a coffee at a local coffee shop at a nearby hotel before shooting my cup of coffee while eating breakfast, pissing, shooting, and robbing in a cycle that had the feeling of a déjà vu. Then I had a coffee.

Tattooed man on 4th Avenue in Tucson, Arizona

Lenny…a guy who should inspire us in our dumber moments to not make characterizations of people we have no idea of who exactly they are.

Scene from the 4th Avenue Winter Street Fair in Tucson, Arizona

Free hugs, now there’s something we need more of. Suppose I wouldn’t have had to turn to a life of bank robbery hanging out with people like Pete had I known more hugs, but today is not a day for hugs. I’m fueled up on coffee and ready to look into the eye of mankind and tackle issues larger than the petty emotional needs of love and acceptance. I’m on a quest to answer questions that take things to the next level.

Angry cigar smoking Santa Claus in Tucson, Arizona

I’m in Alternative-Ville Tucson, and this is Biker Claus chilling while his stable of Harleys gets outfitted with his sleigh before delivering spark plugs to all the good bikers on his naughty list.

A blur of people

Back to my quest. I have been looking for that thing, that essence, that characteristic of non-conformity called real character. Its appearance is fleeting and rarely found. The 1980s gave way to generic Wal-Mart, and Republicans defined total conformity. The majority of people around me are little more than reflections of some popular TV show, their favorite sports team, and the vernacular of idiots created by media to be used by morons little equipped to find their own voice. Defining one’s style is out. Finding your mind, the meaning of life, or exploring new frontiers is the domain of 60’s sci-fi reruns but not of any interest to the current age. I often find myself lamenting the American people’s rapid trajectory to nowhere and asking, “What happened to individuality?” But today, I figured it out; it is dead, and that’s really no problem. Months ago, I may have found this troubling, turns out that my trip to the Grand Canyon helped provide sense to the tragedy. You see, what was wrong with my search for signs of the individual looking for unique self-expression is that this was a nostalgic desire from a guy who has never had much patience for all that nostalgic stuff. I was looking for the inspiration that I felt when I was much younger – today, it just does not exist for me anymore. Here’s where the Grand Canyon comes into play: people are like individual grains of sand, and instead of these folks growing and evolving to form new sandcastles, they have, in a sense – become extinct. They are becoming part of a new layer of sandstone, a part of a fossilizing conglomerate where an individual grain is of no real interest. Each grain is part of the bigger object needing to be seen as a whole that is being eroded, weathered, aged, stained, and reformed as a monolithic representation of a time past lost in the historical record. So I am now left with the task of changing my focus to learn how to see anew, to not search for life in stone, or to expect the petrified remains of what was, to find reanimation.

Caroline Wise eating on the street in Tucson, Arizona

As I shared my newfound vision with Caroline she doubled over nauseous that I should see myself so elevated above the mass of humanity. Retching uncontrollably, my wife stuck her fingers down her throat, and like a priest of a whacky backwoods religion who reaches into the body to remove a tumor, she began to pull out god-knows-what from her mouth. WTF! Oh, wait, this might be the picture of her eating a burrito, my bad.

Joe Cunningham and Rainy Heath in Tucson, Arizona

This is Joe Cunningham, who was smart enough not to be shoving food into his mouth when I was hovering with the camera just inches from his face. The same cannot be said for Ms. Rainy Heath, who knows how to slurp and gobble like a surly wench – as she’s doing in the background. Of course, these three had totally different experiences than my much cooler adventures. They did things like shop for stuff, browse the arts and crafts from the vendors of the 4th Avenue Winter Street Fair, talk with the sellers, and drink Whoopass while I had all the fun.

Sunset on Interstate Ten between Tucson and Phoenix, Arizona

And then there was sunset. We drove home. Night came. Rainy and Joe retired to their respective homes that are not ours. Caroline and I then teleported to a galaxy where we sought out alien life, explored, and traveled where no man had gone before. It was the final frontier and Caroline’s 43rd birthday.

Tucson?

Ukulele Catfish Keith peforming on 4th Avenue in Tucson, Arizona

Ukulele Catfish Keith playing kazoo and ukulele in Tucson (click the link on the left to watch the video) at the 4th Avenue Winter Street Fair. That’s where we found ourselves this weekend to escape the ever-present global warming condition of boredom that has overtaken Phoenix. Maybe with excessive heat and dry summers where monsoons no longer find enjoyment in dropping their rain on the curmudgeonly people of America’s fifth-largest city, the folks that live in the northern desert have had the love of life baked out of their ever-shrinking raisiny minds?

Looking north on 4th Avenue at the 41st Annual Arts & Craft Street Fair in Tucson, Arizona

From the size of the crowd and the conversations eavesdropped, it was obvious that many a Phoenician had the same plan of action we did – get out. Just two hours south and funk has been put back on the map. Where has all my conformity gone? Why have they allowed these old shops to remain open with independent owners trying to sell their inferior American-made crafts and services that went out of style so long ago? We people from the north cannot even remember if a product of this type really ever existed. We strode for hours through these crowds without a single chain store in sight; it was Depravity Day in Tucson.

Musician performing on 4th Avenue at the 41st Annual Arts & Craft Street Fair in Tucson, Arizona

What, hippies? Long hairs playing instruments in the fashion of buskers on the street making music? What’s next, Tucson, love-ins, marijuana, art movies, CULTURE??? I saw no less than a few policemen walk right by this guy without even pausing to throw him the evil eye. Well, trust me here, and believe me later, in my mind’s eye, I spit on this girly man with the fake mustache. People from Phoenix would never stand for this kind of decadence. I think it’s high time we slice off the good state of Arizona south of Casa Grande and give it to Mexico.

Long exposure of the crowd on 4th Avenue at the 41st Annual Arts & Craft Street Fair in Tucson, Arizona

Ok, I think I’m starting to get into the vibe as the day got later, but as evidenced by this photo, I am starting to believe that there must be LSD in the water because not only did we not drive right home, but even the photos I was taking began to disembody themselves from my view of reality. What was Tucson doing to me? Could it have been that girthy wiener of considerable heft that Joe and I had gladly stuffed between our lips earlier – each our own, mind you, as I wouldn’t be caught dead sharing a wiener with Joe, or any other man for that matter? That must have been it; we’d been drugged by an evil $8 wiener laced with god knows what. How else could someone justify charging that much for a dog?

Rainy Heath on 4th Avenue at the 41st Annual Arts & Craft Street Fair in Tucson, Arizona

And then it comes on hard. The world blurs out, and trails radiate in pulses with cascades of flowing color. The human form shifts and goes all monsterish. Rainy’s teeth elongate before her clothes morph into a latex body wrap that starts doing its own thing that is better left untold due to its rather exotic nature that should only happen in the world of dreams.

Joe Cunningham on 4th Avenue at the 41st Annual Arts & Craft Street Fair in Tucson, Arizona

No, Joe, not the eye of the crab. I don’t want to know what comes next. White light has already started flowing from his left ear and cheek; his one good eye is talking to me in silent acknowledgment that in seconds, what is about to come next will “Belie Urgency’s Known Arcanely as Kata-Eugenics,” loosely translated as “he who gives false impression of the need of man to exercise the rituals of improving the hereditary qualities of his breed through coming to grips with the crab claw of life-giving waters” – who comes up with this stuff? I scream, dude, I’m not into your modern primitive, pierced, and tattooed culture just let me go.

Caroline Wise, Rainy Heath, and Joe Cunningham in an elevator across the street from Hotel Congress in Tucson, Arizona

Next thing I know we must be on the elevator to hell because this journey to Tucson shows no mercy in where it is taking me. Into the bowels of Satan’s lair, we descend. For this brief moment prior to what will likely be considerable pain and discomfort, life feels normal. The stainless steel box is plain. There are no adornments or weirdos here with us. But unlike in Phoenix, where, if we were going to hell, I would think would be warming up, it is strangely cool, pleasant even.

Caroline Wise, Rainy Heath, Joe Cunningham at the Surly Wench on 4th Avenue in Tucson, Arizona

The doors open to a retro black-and-white world Joe and Rainy seem familiar with; they call it the Surly Wench. Music blares from the past; is that Siouxsie and the Banshees? No one listens to Siouxsie and the Banshees anymore. Oh my god, the Clash??? The walls are painted black, there are no energy drinks, and people are drinking beer. I think we even passed a jukebox – WHAT IS THIS PLACE?

Joe Cunningham playing pool at the Surly Wench on 4th Avenue in Tucson, Arizona

Walking outside helps, not a squat; it may have made matters worse. Joe is playing pool, and so is Rainy, since when does my wife play pool? Sure, she has a crap form, but my nerdy knitter has given up the needles, which would make for poor cue sticks, and has firmly grasped the shaft and butt and is aiming the tip at the cue ball. We don’t play pool, what’s next, World of Warcraft?

Rainy Heath and Joe Cunningham at the Surly Wench on 4th Avenue in Tucson, Arizona

I think the worst of being in Tucson might be approaching an end; tater-tots, hot and greasy, have been delivered. Who knew that those little tater-tots could taste so good? Better order a second basket. The music hasn’t improved a bit; nostalgia is not my cup of tea, and the devil must know it. Is this Peter Murphy we’re listening to?

Caroline Wise and John Wise at the Surly Wench on 4th Avenue in Tucson, Arizona

I stopped to take Caroline’s and my photo. If this is not truly hell but a reversal of time where nostalgia travels into what was painted in black and white, maybe in the photograph, I will see that I am getting younger and thinner. Strange, I look happy down here, but am certainly not younger, not thinner, and not only is the hair still gray so is the rest of me. Except for those red glittery shoes, I suddenly become aware of down on my feet under the table as I begin to tap them…

The Loft Cinema in Tucson, Arizona

We are teleported back to reality, where we don’t find ourselves in Kansas but at The Loft Cinema. Stepping inside, we buy tickets to the next movie about to play, which just so happens to be Duke Mitchell’s Gone With The Pope from 1976. Far-out movie for a far-out day if you ask me. OK, wtf, is it legal to laugh at this stuff? Whose crazy idea was it to drag this movie out of the toilet of nostalgia? Grindhouse Releasing must be Tarantino. Nope, this masterpiece of exploitation was resurrected by Sage Stallone and Bob Murawski – that’s right, the same famous Bob Murawski who edited Spider-Man 1, 2, and 3. I’d like to tell you about the scene that references Brillo pads or the one where our hero is going to take vengeance for Nazi atrocities, but those guilty laughs are better experienced by the intrepid moviegoer who isn’t standing in line for the midnight opener of Twilight. Not bad for our first day in Tucson.