I have just returned triumphant from the Mendocino parade. Baxt very kindly lent me a camera for the duration of the parade, so I took a phantasmagoria of pictures. Unfortunately, since it took some time to become accustomed to the camera, a lot of the pictures are of empty skies and horse poop. But I did get a few good ones, so here’s a preview of the parade pictures up ahead:

We had two parade streakers, but one of them was too fast for my slow shutter skills. The sock is a nice touch. I hope they wore sunscreen.

The military’s presence was brief and fairly unobtrusive. To the credit of the observers, these gentlemen were followed by a wave of standing applause. That rifle had better be unloaded!

There were, however, a lot of hippies in the parade. This man was holding one end of a tennis net up while a game of doubles tennis was played along the parade route.

Many more to come, never fear, dear readers!

A friend and I decided to go to Sweetwater last night, pretty much on a whim. The awesome thing about open public tubs is that you can do that, so we trundled on down the road to Mendocino in the evening to see what there was to be seen. He had never been to Sweetwater before, so it was an introductory visit. I’m pretty sure he’s hooked now.

Most locals know about Sweetwater. It’s been around for, well…ages. I don’t really know how long. But you go down this winding flower lined path and you enter a warm womb with a fireplace, and you give people money and they give you towels, and you slip through a door into the public dressing room and get naked. It’s a cozy place, not ritzy and super nice like some public tubs I have been in, but very clean and comfortable. I almost feel like I have been invited to someone’s house for the evening, honestly.

I’ve always had an affinity for public tubs. It’s not that I’m an exhibitionist or something, it’s just that I have spent a lot of time in cultures with public baths, and I like the idea. I like meeting people from my community, chilling out in the sauna and talking, or just zoning out. I never know who I’m going to meet there, or what we’re going to talk about. It might be martial arts, tamale recipes, or local politics. I miss the ornate hammams of Turkey, with tiles and cucumber slices and everything nice.

Unlike a lot of public baths, Sweetwater is not segregated. People of all ages and genders are always welcome, and everyone stays fairly mellow. Most of the people in the public tubs are locals, some of whom come on a regular basis. I’ve never seen anything untoward or objectionable there, or felt uncomfortable. This might be because I’m oblivious, or because most of the people at Sweetwater are there for the sauna, the tub, or both, but not booty.

We started out in the tub and then headed over to the sauna. It’s been awhile since I have been able to sauna, so I couldn’t stay in terribly long, but it felt fabulous. I love sitting on the top shelf, slowly drying and then becoming glossy with sweat. It sounds like a hippie thing, but I really can feel the toxins leaching out of my body. It’s awesome. Then I run and take a super cold shower to close my pores. Mmmtastic. After a cooling period, we hopped back into the tub to relax, idly conversing with someone whom I couldn’t identify without my glasses on, and then we drifted home, tub high and comfortable.

I always sleep so well after I sauna, it really makes me want to own a sauna so that I can do it every night. Alas, this house is far too small for any sort of logistical sauna placement, unless my landlord wants to let me take over the tool shed. Speaking of landlords, I also learned that my old landlady was recently in the hospital, and I hope that she is doing ok. She is very active in the community, and a generally awesome lady, so I was sad to hear that she was not feeling well. Those of you who are into praying and that sort of thing might want to think of her, since I defy anyone to meet her and not adore her. She is one of my favourite people in the entire world, personally, and I am really sad that I am no longer living above their kitchen, furtively skulking home in the middle of the night and hoping I don’t wake them as I stumble up the stairs.

As promised, here is a selection of the political entries from the Mendocino Fourth of July parade.

Much of the parade was related to the war, of course, and people from all walks of life stepped out against our continued presence in Iraq. One of the gentleman holding this flag is a well-respected local architect. (With a beautiful home, I might add.) Other marchers in the anti-war brigade included lawyers, doctors, innkeepers, mothers, children, and pretty much anyone else you can imagine (including, yes, former members of the military).

This sign bridgade was part of the Carol Wolman for Congress entry.

Another bright neon sign–I suspect there may have been a sign making party prior to the parade.

The old broads were, of course, out in force, following close on the heels of Code Pink. (There was a whole organized anti-war section of the parade, actually, although it consisted of about 50% of the total parade.) And the broads are right–peace is patriotic.

Lobbying for peace, to me, suggests that you have some hopes for this country, and that you believe it is worth preserving. Not only would peace benefit us in the short term, but long term peace means long term stability–peace now means there will still be an America later. I think we all know I’m a dirty hippie, but I firmly believe that every American should be waging peace actively, within their own communities as well as in the halls of Congress. Peace works.

That’s a sentiment I can get behind.

It seems especially poignant on the Fourth of July, a holiday celebrating the end of British occupation in the United States. It’s a great sadness that one of the first nations to gain independence and to throw off the colonial yoke has turned into an occupier. What would the founding fathers think about that?

For some reason I’m extremely fond of this image. This was right around the veterans for peace section of the parade.

Fourth of July here is an interesting holiday because in Mendocino the parade comes out more like a protest march. But wasn’t this the point of our freedom from Britain? We the people have something to say and by god, we’re saying it.

Sometimes it feels like no one is listening.

[parade]

Yesterday was the Fourth of July, which means only one thing here: the Mendocino parade. I am aware that in Britain it is Thanksgiving and I believe there is also a national American holiday associated with half naked girls walking down the street, political floats, and drinking beer at Friendship Park. But here, 4 July means it’s parade time.

The Mendocino parade is my all time number one favourite parade up here. I have so many great pictures I may have to split this up into two days, but here’s a start of the awesomeness that was on display yesterday. One of my coworkers moved here last year, after the parade had been held, and therefore had never seen it before, so we took a long lunch and dragged her to the parade. I argued that you can’t really understand life on the coast if you haven’t been to the parade.

I went to school with both of these individuals (which reminds me–guys, if for some reason you don’t want your fine bodies posted on the internet, please email me. Or call. Whatever. You know how to find me.) One of them was actually my next door neighbor from wee childhood up until I left for college. They were representing the Rascal Ranch in fine style.

There were a lot of gardening/local agriculture floats this year, but this was by far the most impressive, bedecked in flowers with lovely ladies in garlands. And, of course, this being Mendocino County, a “Say no to GMO” sign.

Sadly, I got to the parade too late to catch the Flynn Creek Circus float, which is usually awesome. This unicycle rider helped make up for some of the pain.

This float contained the crosses which used to sit at the base of Albion ridge before CalTrans removed them. The sides of the float had a list of American dead from the Iraq war. Usually loud cheering accompanies the political floats–a somber silence followed this one.

Another political entry.

This was a man with clear ideas about how a parade should be enjoyed. He moseyed along looking intensely at peace.

Of course, no local event would be complete without a truck of beer drinking gentlemen.

The Mendocino parade, I think you can agree, dear readers, would be difficult to rival in excellence.

[parade]

Did you know that the root word in “hysterical” means woman? Because, you know, women are all flighty and shit. I’ve been thinking we should change it to “androsterical”. But then I can’t use it to make a pun on the Mendocino Historical Review Board. So maybe we should just leave that implicit sexism in there for now.

So anyway. Behind Mendosas market is this old decaying warehouse. It kind of reminds me of my old house. It’s built of tin, at least on the outside, so it looks relatively stable and safe until you see the inside, and you think “my God, this thing is going to kill someone!” Apparently Mendosas thought the same, because they finally decided to raze it and build another one.

Only, welcome to Mendocino.

First, Mendosas had to agree that they would maintain the same general barnish look of the warehouse. All well and good. The new one should be built on the same footprint, with a similar roof line. I understand the desire to want to maintain “historical” buildings, I do. So Mendosas drew up the plans for a nice historical looking barn that would make an updated warehouse space.

The owners said about 40% of the current space was usable. And that they were concerned for the safety of employees who worked in the warehouse. The fire department said they would not send firefighters into the building in an emergency situation, and that they were concerned it posed a fire danger.

I have to give the owners credit–the building hasn’t been condemned, they just realized it was unsafe and should be replaced. There are rumours that the business will be sold, so maybe they are trying to increase the property value, but I prefer to think for the moment that the improvements are altruistic. It’s time to have a modernized warehouse space, for food safety. For healthy employees. For the safety of firefighting personnel.

Right?

Well, the Hysterical Review Board doesn’t want to play ball. They wanted to vote it down, to leave the old structure up, because of “public outcry.” They decided that the “historical” nature of the town should be preserved at the cost of doing business. I suppose when there’s another earthquake, it will be highly historically accurate to have the thing come tumbling down. At last the board conceded, but it has demanded that they roof the new structure with the old, rusting, dangerous materials. Initially, the board wanted the building remodeled, and it was pointed out that this would be impractical and unsafe. And then the board wanted faux rust paint used on the outside of the building, to make it look old. But no, it settled for a totally useless leaking roof instead. Mendosas said “hell no,” to their credit. So now they have to put a fake old roof over the real new roof, to maintain the “character.”

I’m sorry, but this is crazy. It’s crazy that rich yuppies and stupid preservationists demanded that the building be remodeled. It’s crazy that people who know nothing about building, construction, and worker safety get to dictate things like this. I understand the ideals behind preserving Mendocino in a frozen form–it makes a lot of money for the city. Being anti-development, I also understand the obstructionist nature of what the board does. However, business owners should be able to make modifications to their properties, especially when they are concerned about worker safety. A new structure could be built along old lines with safe, reliable materials and blend in with the town. Owning property in Mendocino is fine, as long as you never need to make modifications to it. But as soon as you try to fix a sagging roofline, repair a falling outbuilding, or paint your home, you will be subjected to no end of grief in pursuit of “history.”

Mendocino is not historical. For one thing, most of it fell down in 1906. For another, there are parts of the town that were built up as late as the 1960s, and they don’t “match” the rest of town. There’s an airstream trailer hiding somewhere–can you find it? Also, the board doesn’t seem to follow its own rules, in particular as regards to paint colours. As anyone who has seen the garish painted ladies of San Francisco knows, the Victorians and Edwardians were not fans of mute pastel colours. The board has some sort of idea in its head of what “historical” is, and it’s enforced at random. Fort Bragg has more historical buildings than Mendocino does. Most of them are beautifully preserved and handsome to look at (unlike much of the rest of the town). I dislike this attitude that everything must be archaic, to preserve the “character” of the town. I suppose since Mendocino is an uptight little rich town, the hysterical board actually preserves the character rather well. Yet by behaving this way, the board maintains the status quo–the locals will have crappy service jobs so that the tourists can maintain their illusions. We are not encourage to live, work, and do business in Mendocino. Luckily, Fort Bragg is supportive of local entrepreneurs and business people, and welcomes novel ideas and hard workers. Art in this county is dead. We aren’t like Carmel, except in that we’re just as expensive. But this is not a haven of artists and bohemians anymore, it’s a yuppie paradise. Before long we’ll be like Colonial Williamsburg, a giant theme park, only set in the Edwardian era. And where will the character be then?

[Mendocino]

Honestly, so much nose cutting off to spite faces goes on around here, it’s amazing anyone actually has a nose left. It seems as though at every turn someone is doing something silly simply on the basis that it will annoy someone else. It would be entertaining if the consequences weren’t tragic.

For example, the constant and long running battle over installing a cell tower in Mendocino. I actually wrote a well reasoned, rational letter in defense of the tower, and it wasn’t published, presumably to make room for the lunacy laced diatribes of the warring sides. You see, I’m a big fan of access to emergency services, perhaps because I have friends who have needed it. Some of died waiting for help. Maybe it’s because I know that some day I might be in need, and I’d like to know that if I was in an accident on 128 a bystander could call for help from the scene. But maybe I’m just silly. Maybe when our youth crash into trees and stupid tourists drive off cliffs we should just leave them there. Because god forbid people have access to health care.

At any rate, the latest debate simmers over the Little River Airport. A number of stupid rich yuppies bought nice surprisingly cheap property in Little River, and now have come to understand what it means to live next to an airport, even a small one. There are, you know, like, planes. And stuff. Now, when one is purchasing a property, things like this are disclosed, in case you missed the signs saying “AIRPORT” and the planes taking off and the giant runways. The airport’s old neighbors are all familiar with the airport and do have representation on the board. Flight paths in and out of Little River are severely restricted because of the efforts of the neighbors. Which is sort of reasonable, especially if they were there before the airport was. But what happens is that new people move in and then devote their time to protesting the airport.

So Coast Flyers holds a contract with the county, and in it there’s a clause that they are allowed to offer jet fuel for sale at the airport. And the county gets a cut of the profits. So they are trying to invoke the clause and sell fuel at the airport. For a variety of reasons.

If they don’t, a private contractor might, and then the county won’t get their share. Which, in turn, won’t benefit the airport, which does need money.

While visiting aircraft don’t need to refuel, it would be a nice service to offer, and in an informal poll most transient pilots said they would fuel up at the airport, to support the airport and the local economy.

In addition, jet fuel is less flammable than AvGas, which is currently used. That’s nice. A limited number of small jets use the airport already, and they are quieter, less polluting, and arrive and depart more quickly than conventional aircraft. A fairly low impact presence, it would seem.

These are pretty good reasons to offer fuel at the airport. It seems reasonable for the airport to want to stay alive, and if fueling aircraft helps with that, than so be it.

However, the most compelling reason in my opinion is this. Jet fuel is currently unavailable on the coast, according to the Eric Miller, who wears a number of hats in the community. This means that when search and rescue craft and CalStar fly to the coast, they have limited operating range…and they often sit on the ground waiting for fuel to be shipped over from Ukiah. That’s crazy. As anyone in emergency services knows, time is of the essence. If someone is lost at sea, it’s not an encouraging thought to think that they might die of hypothermia because the search and rescue plane didn’t have enough fuel to find them on the first pass.

We live in a remote area. Many of us choose to live here because of the remoteness, but we do pay a price for it. We are almost two hours away from anywhere by car. Any major illness or injury would result in airlifting because our hospital is going bellyup. It takes a long time to get here. We often get stuck here in inclement weather. Now, granted, we do live here by choice. But it does not seem unreasonable to have an approximation of the things they have in big urban areas, like ambulances. Like search and rescue planes. Like planning boards that aren’t totally insane.

But unfortunately, the rich yuppies that move here want this area to stay in a position of stagnation. We shall not develop. We shall not change. We shall not improve community services. We shall not have a school that isn’t condemned. Our citizens shall continue to work shitty minimum wage jobs while the cost of living skyrockets. Frozen in time we shall be, except for the growing number of trophy houses filling fields that used to pasture cows.

And so the neighbors of the airport are fighting the sale of jet fuel because they think it will increase traffic.

Let me ask you something, homechickens. You are driving cross country from San Francisco to New York. Are you going to take a detour to Mexico City to buy gas?

That’s what I thought. The very idea that jet fuel sales would increase traffic at the airport is ludicrous. Little River is in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. No one in their right mind would divert their flightpath to land in one of the fussiest airports on earth to purchase fuel, especially since that fuel will probably not come cheap, given that it has to be trucked miles over curvy dangerous roads.

This seems like a classic instance of everything that is wrong with the yuppie colonization of my home. These people don’t live here. They “visit” every now and then. Some of them might even take their jets up. They have no conception of what life is actually like in the real world, and spread their interfering selves over things that have a serious impact on my community. They fail to contribute in any real way to community life here. I fail to understand why they should be permitted to have such an impact on our lives, truth be told.

I’m of the opinion that we should have a residency law. Someone must be in continuous residence on your property for at least ten months of the year, or you face forfeiture of your land, which will then be redistributed to the poor and homeless by lottery which they may sign up for. Sort of like section eight except that instead of getting assigned to a crappy project you end up with a four million dollar ocean view home. They in turn will have to pay property taxes on the land, maintain it, and live on it in turn. Should a property be vacant and then squatted, if the squatter can maintain residence for at least ten months, he or she will in turn be given the title to the property. It’s time to fight back, kids. Let’s get old school communist on their asses.

[yuppies]

It was sad news to read this morning that Tony Craver was retiring early due to health issues. Although we all knew he would step down after the 2006 election, it came as a shock to realize that we would be thrust into a Tony-less world an entire year early.

Tony Craver was an awesome sheriff. I remember his first campaign, when he went door to door to encourage people to vote, period, and not just for him. As a law enforcement official, he had a sensible attitude about the county’s needs and worked very, very hard to meet them. He was progressive. He was thoughtful. He was committed to his community, and it showed. Craver tightened up the ship in the Sheriff’s office and strengthed our community as a whole by doing so. He always had a kind word for you in the street, and that counts for a lot in a small town.

I’m sad that Tony is medically unfit for duty, and I hope that his health problems don’t bother him in civilian life. I’m also sad that he’s retiring, and I plan on voting for Hudson in 2006, as Tony seems to think he’s the man for the job.

Thank you for your service, Tony.

[Fort Bragg]

Coming into work at the Spa, there are often messages which need to be dealt with. On the day in question, there was a message from X, wanting to book a tub for the following day, and leaving an 877 number. I duly called, got an answering machine which didn’t identify the name, only the number that I had called, and left a message:

“Hi, this is Y from N Spa calling X back about tub availability for tomorrow. Please give me a call back at your earliest convenience at 937-1234 so I can get you scheduled, and have a great day!”

About an hour later, I get a call back:

“Hi, this is Z…there was a message on my phone for X? But, uh, this isn’t her number.”
“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry!”
“No no, don’t worry about it. This is an Elk number, did you mean to call Elk?”
“Yes, I was trying to reach X X.”
“Oh, X X! Hang on, I’ve got her number right here in my book. You sound really familiar, do you live in Elk?”
“Uh, no, but I grew up there.”
“Really, where?”
“Oh, at H’s place on Cameron Ridge.”
“Oh, yes, H’s place is gorgeous! I’m so jealous, that land is just beautiful. Are you going to her Christmas party this year?”
“I usually do, yeah.”
“Wonderful! H throws such great parties, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, she does.”
“Ok, here’s the number–have a great day!”

What a difference kindness makes, eh? This is small town good manners.

[wrong number]

A few words about parades. For starters, I adore them. Parades are the most wonderful thing on earth. However, in recent years, I have noticed a decline in parade quality. Despite the gratifying appearance of fire trucks, nifty rescue vehicles, men in uniform, and scantily clan women, parade imagination seems to be lacking lately. Alas, no more half naked hula girls on the Elk fire truck. The women’s drill team, who marched with makitas and black and deckers, steps out no more. The politics used to be wittier, the floats dizzying, the light sweeter. Woe.

And the best thing about the Fort Bragg parades is that the parade route always goes directly in front of my house, so I can sit on the roof over the porch and survey the sights far from the madding crowd.

The major parading events of the year are:

Mendo Fourth of July
Festa (September)
Paul Bunyan Days (September)
The Lighted Truck Parade (December)

Mendo Fourth of July is a long running tradition. I have a firm policy of never going to work on the fourth of July because I go to Mendocino to watch the parade, which always starts at noon. Usual players in the parade include–The All Susan Marching Band, Lick Bush in (year), Larry Fuente’s Cadillac, the Flynn Creek Circus, and other assorted “very Mendocino” floats. Last year, for example, a man wheeled a cart full of paper mache dead people while ringing a bell and dolorously calling “bring out your dead.” Politicians usually make a token appearance in open cadillacs festooned with red, white, and blue. The Eileen Hawthorne Fund/Mendocino Coast Humane Society have a spay/neuter float. The army/navy recruited insists on entering the parade and you can follow his progress with the “boos.” One memorable year, the Democrats followed hard on the Republicans (entries 50 and 49, respectively, as I recall), and an argument boiled over on Lansing. The parade is followed by a grand party at Friendship park, where an alarming amount of beer and sushi is served. I usually repair to big river beach to be roundly beated at ultimate frisbee and get sunburned. Oddly, the Petaluma Poultry Pluckers no longer make an appearance. Perhaps they have been outsourced. The above image is the sort of thing often seen at the Mendo parade.

Festa parade is put on by the Portugese community in Fort Bragg. It commorates Catholicism, Monarchy, and other outdated traditions. It’s also great fun. Queens and princesses are crowned, and march down the street in elaborate robes with trains. Portugese halls from all over Northern California represent. It’s good times. The police escort them on their meandering path through town, and they return several hours later looking like wilted cupcakes, trailing flowers through the streets. Citizens always seem slightly confused by festa, as it is not announced or advertised. It just is. On the way out, the princesses seem so much…fresher…and into the parade as an idea.

Paul Bunyan Days is known as Labour Day in other parts of the world. Paul and Babe (the blue ox of fame) visit Fort Bragg for one memorable, tourist laden weekend. The parade has much more of a, say, shall we call…hickish flavour. Much more trick riding (including, this year, some amazinginly talented Mexican men and their horses), much more “rah rah USA” sort of stuff, Paul and Babe, of course, and a larger representation of the local capitalists. (Come to Canclini’s! Eat at Cowlick’s! Etc). Paul Bunyan days is a rompin’ good time for all involved. The Humboldt State Marching Lumberjacks also make a regular appearance, and that is a good thing. Please note that the above tank is going the wrong way on a one way street.

The lighted truck parade is held at the annual lighting of the tree. It consists of…lighted trucks. Usually the few remaining lumber companies put on a showing, and any company with any sort of truck (Harvest Market, Thanksgiving Coffee, Roundman’s, etc) also musters an effort of sorts. The logging trucks, of course, always have the coolest floats. The lighted truck parade is usually also freezing cold, because it is held at night, the better to see the lights with, my dear. The above confection was created by Philbrick Logging.

[parades]
[Fort Bragg]
[Mendocino]

“Well, I’d love to show you the property,” she says. “But I should warn you about the neighbor.”
“Ah. Uhm, what sort of neighbor.”
“Well, he calls himself ‘Nazi Bob.’ It’s a bit of a, uh, self taken moniker.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“Well,” I say, “what else do you have in that range.”

It had never even occurred to me that neighbors might be an issue. But of course, they are. Neighbors, indeed, can make or break a house. And I’m glad the realtor spared me two hours of driving to look at a house I wouldn’t purchase, not for 10 dollars, if my neighbor’s name is Nazi Bob.

[surreal estate]